


Becoming The Man

by AboveReality



Category: The Boy (2016 Bell)
Genre: Angst, Build up, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Mental Instability, Possessive Behavior, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 06:13:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8275633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AboveReality/pseuds/AboveReality
Summary: Annemarie Smit quells her wanderlust and takes up Greta's duty as a nanny for little Brahmsy. Little did she know what she was getting herself into; a world of violence, fear and a hard body pressed against her as he breathed heavy against the skin of her neck.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first real horror mindfuck ficlet. I saw the movie yesterday and was intriqued by it. So let yourself be doused in darkness and the horrors of the body and mind that we'll explore together.
> 
> English is not my mother-language, but I will try my best to prevent errors and let the story flow~

“Thank you _so_ much for coming here, I know it’s must’ve been a pain-” Greta breathed, an apologetic smile on her face but her eyes betrayed her relief as she took Ann’s coat and hung it on the coatrack next to the front door.  
  
“Hey,” Ann placed her hands on her friend’s shoulder and squeezed a bit in a reassuring matter. “That’s what friends are for right?” She released Greta after a quick hug and glanced around the gigantic hall. “Besides how could I pass up _this_ opportunity? The house is amazing.”  
  
“Yeah it sure is,” Greta smiled and hooked her arm in Ann’s, pulling her along. “Come, let me show you the house. It’s very old and needs a bit a loving and a caress here and there.” Her friend showed her the kitchen, the boiler that needed to be filled once in a while and the washing machine and dryer. Both ancient, but still going strong like the stove with the build-in furnace that needed to be lit with a lighter.  
  
Upstairs were the bedrooms, a study, a room with a pool table and a fitness room that seem to collect more dust than sweat. But everything was in order. Greta warned her about the leaking roof and the attic with the retractable ladder that could sometimes spring back into place. She also showed the rat traps, what to do with them.  
  
“Finally, here’s the man of the house.” Greta announced and picked up the doll from its rocking chair. “This is Brahms, the one you are caring for.”  
  
Ann chuckled and took its tiny porcelain hand, shaking it theatrically. “Nice to meet you, Sir Brahms Heelshire, knight of the British Empire,” she warped her voice into a pompous silly tone that made Greta cock her head back and laugh heartily.  
  
“There is a whole list of rules you need to follow,” Greta then explained as they walked to the kitchen with the doll on her arm like it was a real child. She opened a drawer and handed Ann a file of papers, the font on it clearly that of a typewriting machine.  
  
“It’s just a doll Greta, it won’t come stab me if I don’t play music or read poetry to it every day,” Ann joked and looked up from the paper, but Greta did not laugh with her. She seemed uncomfortable and glanced around in unease.  
  
“ _He_ is not just a doll Ann, he’s Brahms. He’s alive.”  
  
Ann looked at the puppet in Greta’s arm, squinting her blue eyes as she peered into the lifeless brown gaze of the doll before her. It was empty, void of expression like his face except the small upward turn of the corners of his fake porcelain mouth. It was life-like yet fake, but creepy as hell nonetheless.  
  
“I see,” she murmured and glanced at her friend.  
  
“You’ll notice he moves, but don’t worry, he won’t hurt you,” Greta explained and looked down at the doll with a loving eyes that Ann found a bit disturbing. “Won’t you Brahms?” Greta chimed to it. The ring of the doorbell ended the growing uncomfortable situation and Greta started.    
  
“That must be the driver. Here,” she carefully handed Ann the doll that weight next to nothing. Ann held it just like Greta did, on one arm as her friend hurriedly walked to the front door. Ann followed.  
  
“Malcolm is the grocer. He will come once a week on Thursdays.” Greta said and shrugged on her coat after opening the door. The driver tipped his hat in greeting and took Greta’s already prepared suitcase. “If there is anything, call, alright? There is no Wi-Fi alas.”  
  
“Sure, but I think I’ll manage.” Ann smiled at Greta who pulled her hair from underneath her coat and paused. Her friend smiled and hugged her, careful not to crush the doll.  
  
“I’m sure you will. You’re my best friend, how could I ever doubt you,” Greta muttered with a muffled thick voice.  
  
“A sister from another mister across the ocean,” Ann chuckled and pulled back. Stroking Greta’s brown locks from her face before giving her a peck on the cheek. “Now get going. Call when you get back home and say my best wishes to your mother. I hope she’ll recover well.”  
  
“I will, thank you. Bye!”  
  
Ann leaned against the doorframe as she watched Greta get in the car, she waved until it’s red backlights disappeared out of view into the inky darkness that surrounded the house. She closed the door and leant against it, sighing whilst her eyes glanced around taking in detail of the ornaments above each doorway, the banister and even the candle holders were fancy. This was no ordinary family.  
  
This was right up the line of royalty, at least it was to her; a simple Dutch girl that hopped countries like furniture in the floor-is-lava game that nearly everyone played as a child. It was how she met Greta Evans, during a working vacation as an au pair in the US. Now much closer to thirty than twenty Ann noticed she was slowly losing her wanderlust, finding rural England to her liking. Close to family if needed, but not stuck with them like she used to.  
  
It wasn’t as if she didn’t love or value them. But they were like roses; sweet, but thorny with a nasty sting and Ann had been stung far too much despite their beauty. Friends you could pick, family you had to live with for life.  
  
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Ann said incredulously and stuffed the second plate of dinner into the cooler, where Brahms would later apparently collect it. She shot a look at the doll sitting at the table, staring into the void and beyond like it should. Her boots thumped on the marble floor as she made her way over to it and reached out, picking up Brahms and set it back on her arm like before.  
  
Not wanting to betray Greta’s trust she put it too bed, telling the tale of Robin Hood as she changed his dapper attire into blue dotted pyjamas. It wasn’t how it was told in the books, since she obviously did not remember it to the letter, but generally covered it.  
  
“And then he married Marian, becoming the Lord of Locksley that he once was and now will be again,” Ann whispered and gently draped the covers around the doll. “The end.” She watched it, examining his white skin and how the fake hair glistened in the artificial light on the dresser opposite of the room, casting dark shadows around them. Though she followed the rules to some degree, she still had her sanity. That meant Ann would _not_ kiss a doll goodnight. So the woman stood, strangely awkward and muttered a ‘good night’ to its deaf ears before exiting his room after turning off the light.  
  
Ann walked hurriedly through the house, her shoes heavy on the wooden floor as she descended two staircases past the family portrait and to the front door. She locked it, turning the key until it couldn’t anymore and started to dim the lights for the night, leaving some curtain partially open so that it would not be a _complete_ blackout. As she wandered through the ancient house, it creaked and moaned, causing her to hug herself. The paintings of people hanging on the walls did not help as she almost felt their eyes on her. A trick of the mind.  
  
“It’s alright Ann, just an old mouldy house. Nothing to worry about.”  
  
‘ _He’s not just a doll Ann, he’s Brahms. He’s alive_ ,’ Greta’s voice echoed in her head. Ann shook her own, willing the thought that scared her to go away. Then she had found it funny, ridiculous even. Now alone in this house that she slowly doused in darkness the thought was making her jumpy. The cave-men instinct of something or someone watching you present, causing the hairs in her neck raise on end and her heart to beat against her ribs.  
  
When finally reaching her own room she turned on her heels and closed the door with a slam due to her hurry, breathing hard as she tried to press down the panic and irrational fear of the dark. A particular loud groan of the wood made her startle and laugh unnerved.  
  
“It’s just the house, relax. You’re alone,” she whispered to herself to try and sooth the nerves. Though she locked her own bedroom door, just to prevent it slamming open from the draft, Ann lied to herself.  
  
The adjoined bathroom was her refuge, the light bright and revealing, casting almost no shadows. Ann turned on the shower and undressed, the water making her jitters finally seize and her heartbeat to relax. Until her finger tips wrinkled she remained there; the safe and bright heaven in this dark house. How long was in it in the Heelshire’s possession? Ann figured for many generations, judging by how old this all was.  
  
Dressed in a green tank top and mismatched orange pyjama shorts she stepped in oversized bed, scooting underneath the thick covers that protected her from the draft and demons. It was a childish thought but it soothed her. Behind the headboard was the window, large and almost reaching up to the tall ceiling. She left it open, allowing no curtains to be closed so that when she doused the lamp on her nightstand she could still see _something_ in this blackness. But not tonight, for there was no moon.  
  
Ann huddled underneath the covers, enjoying its weight and warmth on her body, hugging her. She sighed and banned out the creepy thoughts and feelings of watchful eyes, forcing herself in a slumber.  
  
She had no idea she was getting into.


	2. Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I'm not going to fast with this. But I have grant plans for Ann.

Rain crushed itself against the windows, when she made two pair of sandwiches, breaking their fall from the skies above accompanied by thunder. When Ann sliced the bread and put it on two separate plates she paused.  
  
‘ _Would it be gone?_ ’  
  
She walked with the second plate to the cooler and opened it, swallowing thickly at the sight of it. Instead of dinner of the previous night, the cooler only held an empty plate. Ann glanced around her shoulder to Brahms who just looked at her with placid eyes.  
  
“What the fuck,” Ann mouthed almost wordlessly and took the empty plate, placing the sandwich in it. She then started to peel an orange and presented it in front of the doll in slices. Brahms still looked at her with an empty look, unmoving.  
  
“It must’ve been Malcolm, but how could he have gotten in..” Ann talked to herself as she took the plate and ate a slice. It spurted out some juice, some of it dripping down her chin that she wiped away with the back of her hand in reflex. The house groaned again. “Maybe he has a key,” she rationalized and went to the trash container just in the corner, pressing it open with her foot.  
  
_‘But it Tuesday, not Thursday,’_ the logical voice inside her whispered. Unnerving her.  
  
As she dumped the rest of the orange in the bin there was some scuttling behind her. It stopped before she whipped around to look, nearly dropping the plate at the sight before her; the doll was gone from its seat at the table.  
  
“What the fuck,” Ann now clearly exclaimed, throwing the plate in the sink and strode over to the chair. Pushing strands of her blond hair behind her ears.  
  
Nothing, not even under the table. Then there was a knock at the far end of the kitchen. Her strides were long and looked around the corner of the narrow hall way connecting the kitchen to the dining room. There Brahms was, propped up against the wall and head turned towards her. He was still smiling.  
  
Not sure what to think of it, Ann carefully picked him up, setting his head straight and propped him on the hip. She examined him, but nothing was different as before. It appeared lifeless still. She walked to the cooler and opened it, her heart beating in her throat but deflated as she noticed that the sandwich was still there.  
  
‘ _This doesn’t makes sense,_ ’ Ann thought as she walked to the music room and set Brahms down on the rocking chair. Throwing a blanket over him, now suddenly uneasy with his blank stare. She retreated upstairs to her bedroom and started to unpack that she hadn’t yesterday.  
  
Her clothes easily filled up the wardrobe, with room to spare. On the dresser against the left wall of the room was her laptop, plugged in and charging. With the WAP device in her hand she ventured through the house, the wood groaning underneath her sock-clad feet. The sock thick and made of fleece, muffling her footsteps but did nothing to prevent the floorboards protesting beneath her weight.  
  
“Where to put you little guy?” Ann hummed and looked up to see the trap door of the attic. She remembered Greta telling her that it close in on her, and one of the rules was not to go up there. But, she thought as she looked down at the Wi-Fi device in her hands, it was the best place to put it there. Grabbing a cane that she found in one of the jointed rooms she hook it on the little eye attached to the hatch and pulled it down. It groaned and a ladder unfolded in the process. To prevent from collapsing on her she fixed the ladder with a chair and the cane. She did not want to be all alone up there.  
  
Though it was still daytime, the attic was dark. Almost pitch black and Ann felt the hairs on her neck stand on end as she fastened the WAP device near the window for the best signal she could receive. It bleeped and blinked, a green light shining at her to signal it was up and running. Ready to use.  
  
Smiling at her handiwork she turned and wanted to get back to the ladder when something creaked down below. It caused her to stop her movement.  
  
Again the house creaked, more and more and the wood groaned as if it was walked upon. Ann heard rather than felt her blood rushing in her ears in alignment of her beating heart. Was there someone down there? Did she lock the front door? What if they found the ladder and chair.  
  
Scared Ann hurried to the ladder, trying to pull it up but it did not budge, the chair and cane below doing their job. Heavy footfalls approached, as someone was running across the wood, closer and closer towards her and the ladder. Ann pulled harder but her hands slipped and she tumbled backwards with a shriek, colliding against a mannequin and taking it down with her in her fall. It caused a chain reaction of things falling over and crashing. Glass shattered and then it was silent.  
  
No footsteps, no groaning, no creaking just deafening silence.  
  
Ann groaned as she picked herself up, back sore as well as her ankles due to the mannequin that partly broke her descend. Her heart thundered against her ribs when she crawled on hands and knees to the edge of the ladder in the floor. She scooted around it and laid down on her stomach, peeking out to the hallway upside down.  
  
There was nothing.  
  
Wary Ann stepped down the ladder and untangled the chair and cane. Instantly the ladder folded in on itself and the trapdoor closed with a bang. She glanced around, feeling safer now that she was somewhat armed. There was still nothing, not even a gush of wind beating against the house.  
  
Disturbed Ann hastily ascended down the staircases towards the front door, having disregarded  the chair but kept the cane tightly in her fist until the knuckles turned white. The metal of the knob was cold to the touch and she rattled it. Locked. But she was sure she heard footsteps.  
  
She half jogged to the music room and found the chair that she left Brahms in empty. Even more unnerved than that morning Ann went upstairs to her room, swallowing thickly when she found the doll sitting on her bed. Staring at her with its brown empty eyes and the rules beside it in a neat pile.

* * *

  
Ann looked at the doll, not even wanting to say goodnight but she murmured it anyway, before leaving hurriedly. The front door was already locked, the lights in the house turned off and she locked her bedroom door behind her. Ann did not feel safe, not at all. She wanted to call Greta, to hear another human’s voice that responded instead of that creepy doll. To tell her that everything was fine.  
  
Suddenly Ann laughed, without humour but full of self-mockery. “I’m here just two days and I’m already going mad,” she chuckled and forced her paranoia to bug off when crawling into bed and pulling her laptop close. Within a few clicks Netflix was playing an episode of American Horror Story, which was more intriguing and amusing to her rather than terrifying. It was some damn good acting, one thing that Ann appreciated as a film lover.  
  
An hour ticked by and half a slumber she turned off her laptop and crawled out of bed, placing it on the dresser and plugged it in the charger. Ann looked at her own reflection in the mirror above it, her face almost doused in shadows but she could see the bright blue hue in her eyes and the blond of her hair that was slightly cradling her face as it was cut in layers. The ends just reaching below her shoulders. Her gaze trailed from her own silhouette to the bedroom door.  
  
“I’m just silly,” she whispered to herself and turned around. The key was cool to the touch when she unlocked her door and laid the key on her night stand. There was just no way someone else could be in the house without leaving a trace. It’s just that doll.. or Malcolm playing tricks on her. Nothing else.  
  
No ghosts. No monsters. No creepers.  
  
An nestled beneath the covers and breathed, relaxing and listening to the onslaught of rain that lulled her in a light slumber.

* * *

  
_She was running, her bare feet pounding on the ground with each a powerful stride, scooping up leaves behind her. Strong leg muscles propelling her forward, wind rushing past her ears._  
  
_Get away. Run away. LEAVE HIM._  
  
_Each intake of oxygen was raw against the back of her throat like sandpaper, lungs burning and in reaction to that her muscles started to cramp up. Her right foot got caught up with something, halting her stride and crashing her to the ground with a sickening crunch since it was unforgiven despite the leaves dampening her fall._  
  
_Her heart hammered furiously against the inside of her chest, she could feel it through her skin and inside her head as she laid there for a second before trying to crawl back up on feet, scrambling in her panic but only catching leaves instead of real grip on the soil beneath it. Something heavy and powerful pressed against the space between her shoulder blades, forcing her back to the ground and seizing all struggling, her cheek was pressed against the ground. A sense of terror curled up inside her gut, gnawing at it in a nauseating way when adrenaline rushed her veins. Someone was standing above her, someone much stronger and taller than she was. Ann sensed it and closed her eyes. Not wanting to see._  
  
_Heavy breathing that was not her own came closer, the undeniable heat of another body closing along with it from above her as her attacker lowered himself down. She felt his knees pressing against either side of her hips, trapping her with the bulk of his body. She could struggle, but that meant death. Ann did not want to die._  
  
_She clenched her eyes even tighter when that heavy breathing lowered itself until she felt it caressing the shelf of her ear. It stopped as he inhaled, thickly. Fear curled around her guts even tighter, causing her heart to race even more. Ann was sure of it that even_ he _could hear it. Each huff and puff send goose bumps across her heated sensitive skin. There was some rustling and large fingers threaded through her tangled blond hair, baring her neck to him. Ann trembled at the touch, her fingers clenching around leaves and soil, grabbing onto anything. Her own breath hitching in her throat._  
  
_The hand that kneaded into her touched her skin, fingers warm and calloused. Gentle but yet terrifying her for the strength that they possessed. He could snap her neck like a twig. There was a tingle on the back of her spine where she felt the brush of his clothing. Ann gasped._

* * *

  
Ann woke up with a start and shot up, there was a bang at the same time but she did not register it. Flustered and sweating she looked around, everything in the room was the same except for the lighting. Dawn was approaching.  
  
When Ann turned to look at her alarm clock she noticed the bed was crumpled beside her, perhaps she thrashed around a bit? Seeing that she had time to spare but no longer having the need nor rest to sleep Ann slipped underneath the shower, washing away the sweat and the adrenaline from her veins.  
  
As the water dripped down her skin she touched her neck and hair, where that man in her dreams had touched her. It had been terrifying, but oddly sensual. Shrugging it off and declaring herself a lunatic for thinking such things about nightmares of getting chased Ann got dressed and wanted to get started with the ritual of getting Brahms out of bed, but when she opened her bedroom door notes were in front of her on the floor. The house rules.  
  
Okay this was getting weird.


	3. Relaxation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chill and go with the flow ;) Let us descend to the more pleasureable regions of the mind.

“Well it was a pleasure to meet you Malcolm.”  
  
Smiling she reached out and took the man’s hand, it was warm. Malcolm nodded, returning the upward tuck of his lips and shook her hand, his touch lingering longer than hers. There was something endearing about this handsome man, something very puppy-like.  
  
“Like wise,” he said with an English accent that could make most women swoon, but Ann wasn’t like most women.  
  
“You know, you should head out some time. Take dinner elsewhere, or some drinks at a pub,” Malcolm suggested. Clearly hinting at something that made Ann grin amused.  
  
“Is that how you always pick up girls? Go to old houses where they babysit a doll all alone and decide to be their grocer?”  
  
Malcolm flustered and stammered at her straight-forwardness but could not help but to chuckle. “Uh, not always. But for you I’ll make an exception,” he flirted and gave her a wink. Ann was amused by it.  
  
“Maybe one day, alright?”  
  
“I’ll hold you to that.”  
  
She leaned against the doorway as he loaded his now empty crates back into the truck. It was astounding what he delivered, but somehow the pantry was still empty this week. Two elderly people and a lone woman did not eat that much, so where did it went? Malcolm never questioned it though, merely delivered and that for over a decade now. She waved until his truck passed the gate at the far end of the drive way.  
  
Ann shivered due to the chill and pulled on her boots and coat, throwing a shawl around her neck before closing the front door behind her. Time to check the traps.  
  
Armed with gloves and garbage bag she walked around the property. It was near the forest, no wonder vermin was attracted to this place. With a wrinkled up nose she pulled a particular crushed specimen out of a trap, limbs dangling just hanging by a thread of skin or muscle fibre. With a disgusted noise she dropped it in the bag where his equally as dead brothers and sisters awaited him.  
  
That one thing to scratch off the list for the things to do today. Perhaps tomorrow she should rake the leaves, if trees were completely barren.  
  
Ann then took it upon her to clean the house, vacuuming the carpets on the floors and dusting off the paintings with a feather duster. All the while Brahms was still in bed. Whether this was a test or a feeling of rebellion Ann did not know, but something about the doll creeped her out and made her want to stay far away from it. Like she was denying what was happening; the meals disappearing and the scuttling of the doll around the creaking house.  
  
Blowing the strands of hair out of her face Ann put away her stuff in a broom closet below the staircase. Almost hidden from view aside from the small round door knob. She clicked it shut and turned, barely muffling a scream when the doll sat in front of her. All dressed up like she should have done.  
  
“What are you doing here?” She huffed and moved to the doll, wanting to pick it up.  
  
Then the phone rang.  
  
Giving Brahms a final disturbed look, Ann adjusted her course and strode towards the kitchen, wondering who on earth it could be. Maybe it was Malcolm, has he forgotten something? The black horn was smooth to the touch, the device looking like new though she knew it was at least over two decades old, if not older. It was still attached to a wire and had a rotary dial.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
There was nothing at the end of the line aside for some static noise. Ann leaned against the kitchen counter, back to the window where the sky was turning grey and the wind picked up. It was going to storm tonight.  
  
“Hello?” Ann asked again, this time a bit more aggravated. There was still nothing. She wanted to lay down the horn before a voice stopped her, child-like in nature.  
  
_“Annie?”_  
  
Said woman nearly dropped it, her heart picking up pace. She took a few steps forward for as long as the wire allowed and peeked into the hallway. Brahms the doll had turned and now looked straight at her. Ann retreated back and placed down the phone on the counter, horn still against her ears as the small voice repeated her name.  
  
_“Annie, why won’t you follow the rules?”_  
  
She opened and closed her mouth, not sure to reply to that weird child-like voice on the other end of the line.  
  
“Do I have to follow them?” She then boldly asked. “You’re just a doll.”  
  
There was a chuckle coming from the horn that made her skin erupt in to goose bumps. Ann crossed her hand over her chest, unconsciously making sure she felt safe.  
  
_“I just want to play. Please, follow the rules.”_ And with that the line went dead.  
  
Ann pulled the horn back, looking at it as if were to sprout fire or crackle back to life again, but there was nothing and thus she laid it back on the phone. She moved to the doorway of the kitchen and looked at Brahms, still in the same place; watching her. Ann kept her arms around her torso as she tentively moved closer to it, eventually kneeling down. It’s brown eyes were still as fake as empty like before.  
  
She touched his fake glistening nylon hair, dark brown of colour that was leaned more to black in faint lighting, and moved it out of the way from his face that was still a cold porcelain. Nothing had changed about it yet he felt different.  
  
‘ _He’s alive,_ ’ Greta’s voice echoed from her memories. Ann picked him up and looked around, the house started to creak and groan as the wind picked up outside.  
  
“Alright, I’ll play along,” she announced to the house and those who might dwelled within.   


* * *

  
The following week Ann followed the rules just like she promised not only to herself but also to Greta. At first it was still weird, odd and a bit disturbing, but as days passed she found the routine almost helpful.  
  
Playing music became one of her favourite activities, not only playing the opera of classical music that the cupboards were loaded with, she also played her own on her laptop with volume max. It had to be loud the rules said. A mix between rock, orchestra and uplifting music that pumped the blood.  
  
Ann partook in dancing on the rhythm, not that she had many dancing lessons but she followed yoga classes in a far distant past. She used the music to relax, to stretch and work out on the large carpet than muffled her jumps and stretches. It felt safer than using the old and dated fitness room upstairs. What if one of the weights fell and crashed through the floor?  
  
The house groaned and creaked again, the rain an onslaught against the windows as the weather had worsened. It became increasingly colder and more hostile with Winter knocking on Fall’s doorstep, wanting to come in. Just like now.  
  
Sweaty, Ann unlocked the front door and stepped aside. She instantly smiled and stepped aside to let Malcolm in all wet and heaving his load.  
  
“Malcolm, hi! You’re early, it’s Monday,” Ann exclaimed and helped him carry his load to the kitchen where also the door to the pantry and cellar was.  
  
The man smiled at her, drops that had caught onto his stubble now dripped to his chin that he quickly wiped away. Ann forced her eyes back to his own, he avoided her gaze and looked down at the crates. The music from the music room was still blaring in the distance.  
  
“I, uh, yeah. I have some large deliveries later on the week and thought why not deliver a part today and another in between? I would otherwise get a bit trapped within my schedule, is it alright?” He inquired after stammering a bit, cocking up a questioning eyebrow. She saw him giving her a quick once-over Ann waved his question away.  
  
“Yeah sure, go ahead. I was just surprised. Yell if you need anything, I’m going to finish what I started,” Ann chuckled and thrusted her thumb over her shoulder to the doorway, meaning the music and her fitness/yoga routine.  
  
“Okay,” Malcolm nodded, somehow flustered and started to unpack the crates.  
  
With a jump in her stride she entered the music room. Brahms had moved to another chair looking straight at the doorway instead of the middle of the room.  
  
“Sorry Brahms. Let’s continue, shall we?” She chimed at it and relaxed her breathing before starting on the Sun Salutation.  
  
Ann brought her arms up till she could no more and let her hands touch, she lowered them as if in a prayer and continued lowering until her palms touched the floor. Her legs parted a bit, feet stepping back before she stretched, the end of her pony tail touching the ground. She felt her hamstrings and the small of her back slightly protest but she did not push any further. The floorboards creaked again when she straightened herself and stretched her arms again, lowering them in the familiar pose of prayer again before exhaling and shaking her limbs to relax the muscles.  
  
“Everything is in order,” a voice called out from behind her. Ann turned to see Malcolm standing in the doorway, he looked awkward.  
  
“Uh, thanks,” Ann nodded and turned off the music that had been a relaxing melody of Ólafur Arnalds. She walked with the man to the front door.  
  
“Ready for a night out yet?” He inquired and looked at her with a grin. Ann noticed that they matched heights. She gave the man a questioning glance, tapping her chin with a lone finger as if deep in thought in a comical way.  
  
“Mmmh.. one day,” she finally drawled, leaving him hanging in the most cruel way.  
  
“Pity,” Malcolm chuckled and put on a hat that he fished from his pocket. “Have a good evening Ann. If there is something, I’m only a phone call away” He tipped the hat and smiled warmly at her. Ann returned it, liking and savouring the human contact.  
  
“Like wise Malcolm, drive safe.”  
  
He nodded and ascended the stairs in a hurry towards his car where he quickly loaded the empty crates and got in. She waved at him until she could see the red backlights no more. Ann stepped back and closed the door, a sudden scurry behind her startling her, she turned to see the doll on the staircase looking at her.  
  
“He’s gone, Brahms. Come, let’s get you to bed.”  
  
The same ritual was performed, a story as she undressed and redressed him in his same blue and white dotted pyjamas, of which he apparently had several of. She tucked him as she had been when she was just a little girl, blankets and pillows around him warm and safe.  
  
“Good night little Brahmsy,” Ann whispered to the lifeless doll. It was still fake, but cooed at it nonetheless. Her blue eyes examined his face before smiling softly, mostly to herself than the doll. She then lowered and pressed her lips against his smooth cold cheek, giving him a goodnight’s kiss.  
  
“Night, night, sleep tight,” she mused and lifted herself off the bed, matrass creaking as her weight left it. Ann gave the doll one more look before turning of the lights and closing its door. She walked to her own room, stilling her thoughts of why she did what she did and closed her own door behind her. The house creaking and groaning along with the floorboards, as if something followed her.  
  
As the bath filled she stripped herself from her clothing, throwing her sweaty fitness clothes on the wash pile for the machine tomorrow. Ann looked at herself in the mirror, pulling her hair free from the tail on the back of her head and let it fall across her face.  
  
She was pale-skinned, but had some freckles and a reddish hue in her golden blond hair. Above her slightly upturned nose a pair or two bright blue eyes stared back at her, big, almost innocent looking but at the same time aged. Like they had seen a lot of the world, and not always the good things. Her eyes travelled down to her collarbones that just mildly stood out, a thin white scar running over the left due to an accident with a horse. Buggers. Ann instantly gave up riding after that, but since she started from a young age it drew out the muscles in her body. She was and felt strong, athletically build though not extremely buff or broad, and still had some soft feminine curves but not a lot of breast. Ann used to be envious of other girls, but now she was content with what she had and accepted who she was. Unlike some her age that she had met.  
  
Ann sighed and pushed herself away from her reflection from the sink. The bath was filled and carefully she stepped into the hot water. It was almost scorching, but the good kind as she eased herself into it, breathing heavily to relax. As she finally ascended and her bum touched the bottom Ann closed her eyes.  
  
This was it. Heaven.  
  
She reached down, finding the neck of a bottle of wine that she brought up earlier and a glass. Filling the glass she shifted a bit to sit somewhat upright, and sipped it. The red liquid was thick, creamy but deliciously soothing her throat. Ann placed the bottle back down on the tiled floor and closed her eyes again. How long she remained there, she did not know but when she got out the hot water had turned cold and the bottle only contained a quarter of its content.  
  
Ann slowly dressed herself in her green tank top and orange bottoms, thoughts slowed and feathery light due to the alcohol. Her hair only towel dried and loose. The bedroom was dark when she exited the bathroom, but she did not need light for she knew where her bed ways and stumbled towards it.  
  
‘ _Probably forgot to turn it on,_ ’ she mulled and grabbed the covers of the bed to pull it back when she heard it. Something that instantly drove away the alcohol from her system and her headiness.  
  
Breathing that was not her own.  
  
Ann halted and turned around, darkness greeting her eyes. She squinted them noticing the outlines of her wardrobe, dresser where her laptop laid and the door, which was slightly ajar. There was silence, no breathing when she strained her ears.  
  
Was it a trick of her tired mind? The wind howling outside?  
  
“Didn’t I already close you?” Ann muttered as if the door were a thing and could answer back.  
  
The metal knob on it cold to the touch and she pulled it further open, baring herself to the darkness of the house. Ann stepped into the hallway, looking left and right but nothing was there, as to be expected. Sighing tiredly she ran a hand through her hair and turned around, closing the door again and ventured for her bed. The pitter patter of rain her companion.  
  
The blankets were warm and welcome when she laid down and nestled herself underneath the covers, but sleep was entirely off her mind right now. Her ears picked up every groan, every creak and crack. Was that a mouse?  
  
An hour crept by and Ann’s mind drifted off, towards more obscenely thoughts. She needed to relax in another way than a bath, yoga stretches or alcohol. She needed to unwind. Ann had felt it when bending down during the Sun Salutation, her need. But in a sense it felt wrong.  
  
She was in another bed, another house with a creepy doll just a few doors down that was somehow yet alive. Whether it was a demon or a ghost. Ann clenched her eyes shut in aggravation.  
  
‘ _I shouldn’t have watched Annabelle,_ ’ she scolded herself, but despite her doubts she lifted her hips and pressed down her bottoms and underwear.  
  
“I’m alone here, in this house. I can do whatever I want, what I need,” she whispered to herself couragingly and her hand wandered downwards to find stubble. She shivered at the coldness of her fingers, but they warmed quickly as she ran them up and down her folds, trying to moisten them. Ann had to use her imagination.  
  
She thought of what she had seen, or experienced as she stimulated herself. Her index and middle fingers working separately around her clit, carefully pushing and pulling and rolling it between her digits as her other hand kneaded and stroked the flesh around it. Sometimes applying more pressure, sometimes lessening it by the more ghost of her fingers. Often teasing around her opening, then drifting away from it.  
  
Ann tried to imagine that they were Malcolm’s, the handsome grocer, but found that she could not. She just wasn’t sexually attracted to him. So her imagination delved deeper, deeper to the point that she reached her dreams earlier on. That an unknown but powerful man was above her, pressing her into the ground below and she did not see him, only hear and feel him. His breathing heavy in her ear, ghosting across the naked skin of her neck down to her back. A hand not just stroking away her hair but also the side of her breast, branding her with his touch. Ann inserted a finger inside her, she was wet and added another soon.  
  
She imagined the dream-man doing this to her, gently but with the intent of possessing her. Going in an out, in and out with his thick fingers. Holding her down by his mere presence and she did not want to resist him. No, she _longed_ for him. She ached for him just like she ached for release right now, her breathing hard and her legs trembling.  
  
Ann gave herself that release, throwing her head back, a soft strangled moan escaping from her lips as she kept pumping her fingers, kept rubbing her clit to let the orgasm last. It was strangely sexual to feel her own walls convulsing against the flesh of her digits and finally it ebbed down, leaving her tired and in a mess of sweat, want and her own fluids.  
  
She laid there, breath laboured for a moment and tore herself out of bed and to the bathroom. Needing to relief her bladder and clean up her own residue. The bed was still warm when she returned, and feeling so much better than before she finally succumbed to sleep. Unaware of eyes focused on her through the keyhole of her door, accompanied by another pair of hard strained breathing.  
  
Soon.


	4. The Puppeteer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMGGG!! He's here! :D

The end of the week neared and Ann was helping Malcolm putting stuff into the pantry that was indeed surprisingly empty. She told him about her life, how her wanderlust made her travel alone as an au pair and a backpacker.  
  
“So you’ve also been to Africa? Where haven’t you been?” He incredulously inquired in disbelief. Ann chuckled as she walked with him to his car, crates in her arms that he offered to carry but she declined. They weren’t heavy.  
  
“Never to Australia or New Zealand, it’s on the list of a distant possible future,” she told him. “Maybe even never,” Ann confessed.  
  
“Why never?”  
  
Malcolm had an observing look in his eyes, so Ann hugged herself after putting the crates in the back of the carand glanced at the leaves that she still needed to rake, feeling on the spot. Damn her and her procrastination.  
  
“Because I somehow have the feeling it’s not the time to travel, not anymore. Not right now at least,” she gestured to the house. Mr. and Mrs. Heelshire still hadn’t come home or sent a letter. It had been a month in total now. “And I don’t see me having kids in the distant future and you don’t travel that distance with young children. So if the time comes I may be even too old.”  
  
Malcolm laughed, heartily. For a moment Ann thought he was mocking her, making fun of her thoughts and worries but then he smiled. “I’m you sure will have your chance. Word of advice from my old dad; don’t worry about what has yet to come.”  
  
Ann sighed, somehow feeling relief in his words. “You have a wise father.”  
  
The man shrugged and closed the trunk of his car where they had loaded in the crates. “Had to be with two rambunctious sons.”  
  
Ann chuckled at that. “You? Rambunctious? I find that hard to believe.” Malcolm met her eyes with a glimmer.  
  
“Oh yes, very. Wild and free is what I was called, and sometimes that little side of me bubbles up to the surface,” he answered and put on his hat. Ann picked up the flirt in his tone and giggled.  
  
“So, want to get out of this place for a night?” Malcolm tried again, just like the previous two times. “Tomorrow there is an awesome band playing in the local pub, I’m sure you’ll like it.”  
  
Ann opened and closed her mouth, she glanced back to the mansion over her shoulder. Should she do it? Then drifted back to Malcolm whose face had already fallen a bit, thinking she would not accept his offer. He still smiled though, but it was fake and did not cover the hurt in his eyes. He nodded and opened the door of the driver’s seat. Before he was about to get in Ann stopped him.  
  
“I would like that, actually,” Ann murmured with a small voice as she felt her cheeks warm.  
  
Malcolm grinned then, face instantly lighten up. “Splendid, pick you up at 8?”  
  
Ann nodded and his grin only widened. “Have a good day, Ann!”  
  
“Like wise!” She called back and waved, waiting for the car to exit the front gate before turning around and entering the front door. Her heart was thundering in her ribs, somehow flustered. She was not attracted to him so why did she feel this way? Malcolm had clearly been excited, infecting her own mood.  
  
Ann had a spring in her step as she went to fetch Brahms and made some lunch for both of them. Then she read some poetry and soon dinner. Instead of retreating to her room she gathered her laptop and Brahms and settled on the couch instead. She did not find the bottle of wine from yesterday, it somehow having disappeared from her room as well as her fitness clothes. Odd.  
  
But she settled for a nice cider instead with some crisps and dips. The candles were lit and the horror night was on. Brahms was settled on a chair next to her, head turned to the screen not that he would actually see anything. Ann was hugging a pillow tight to her chest as her eyes were glued to the screen, fleece blanket around her covering her bare shoulders as she already wore her nightclothes. The Rite with Sir Anthony Hopkins played on the flickering screen of her laptop. A story about a man who believed in science but with the will of his father started educating priesthood and eventually exorcism.  
  
The film was slow paced, but Ann felt a sense of something greater that would reveal itself later on. She wasn’t particularly a religious person, nor an atheist. She wanted to believe that there was something in this world and beyond, whether it was heaven or hell she did not know, and they all lived to serve a purpose or merely exist because of one. Those were the greater questions in life that she often wondered about and attracted her to such films, since they were interesting to dwell upon later.  
  
Anthony Hopkins in the film screamed, yelling the name of the demon that possessed him by the command of the young priest who now believed in more than just science. He now believed in the Devil and in turn in God, given power of the demon that dwelled within his mentor. With some nice filming technique it could be seen how the demon left him, his skin turning from the black and ashen back to normal and Ann smiled, elated to see that he had survived his ordeal.  
  
The kitchen was dark when she put down her glass and bowl in the sink, determent to wash it tomorrow. When she turned to walk away a shadow flickered in the corner of her eyes, she paused, but there was nothing. Feeling a bit nervous Ann hastily walked back to the couch, the doll had not moved from its spot.  
  
Should she move upstairs or not? She looked at the clock, it was already over midnight, way past bed time for Brahms. So she gathered it up and carried it upstairs, determined to get her laptop and blankets later. After their nightly ritual Ann ventured back downstairs, only to notice her laptop closed and the candles dimmed. Smoke trailed from the stumps up in the air, strange that it died. It still had enough wax and tassel.  
  
She sat down on the couch and closed her eyes, but could not feel a draft. Then in her peripheral vision she could see it again, a shadow passing by. Clearly a person and from outside. Something inside of her snapped.  
  
“Okay, that’s it,” Ann huffed in anger and grabbed a fire iron near the mantle at the other end of the room and walked to the front door. She unlocked it and threw it open. Outside it a storm was raging, instantly tearing at her clothes and grabbing her long locks, whipping it around her.  
  
She ran outside, armed with the iron and grabbed it so tightly that her knuckles turned white. The rain was sharp on her skin, soaking her through her clothes. The leaves below her feet equally as cold but Ann did not care as she squinted her eyes trying to see.  
  
“Who’s out there?” She yelled on the top of her lungs. “Show yourself!”  
  
Nothing did. The trees around her groaned and moaned, branch hitting branch as it tried to withstand the wrath of Mother Nature. Though adrenaline rushed through her veins Ann was not a fool and knew that venturing out in the dark all alone was a bad idea. She huffed and turned around, the stone of the stairs freezing the soles of her feet. Inside the onslaught of the weather was muffled, she closed the front door behind her heavily and locked it again.  
  
Now she was beginning to get scared. Walking towards the living room she plumped down on the couch and violently tore her laptop open, pressing the power button. Nothing happened. She pressed it several times, each time harder, but still nothing.  
  
“What the fuck!” Ann yelled exasperated and tore at her hair.  
  
‘ _Phone._ ’  
  
She jumped up and strode to the kitchen, she needed to call someone. Right now. But when she pressed the horn against her ears the silence at the end of the line made the pit in her guts sink all the way to the bottom of her feet in dread. Nothing, it was dead.  
  
Cursing she threw the phone away and half jogged to the couch. She scrambled to get her blankets and the laptop, house creaking and groaning against the wind. Suddenly there was a bright blinding flash from outside, followed by the gigantic clap of thunder that roared through the house.  
  
‘ _Fuck it!_ ’ Ann thought and she dropped the blankets in fright. The stairs moaned when she flew up them as fast as she could, jumping a few at a time. She passed Brahms bedroom, his door was ajar but the doll was still in its bed, looking at her in the doorway with his innocent brown eyes.  
  
Disturbed Ann strode for her own room, heart beating furiously against her chest and she instantly crawled into bed. Not caring for her wet pyjamas or the hair clinging to her face. She needed safety and she wasn’t _safe_. She felt threatened and scared and alone in this godforsaken house!  
  
The next morning, Ann was exhausted. Drained. She found that the phone was working again and instantly called Malcolm as she was slowly eating lunch. Brahms sitting in front of her, placidly. She nearly broke out into tears when Malcolm’s soft ‘hello?’ echoed at her from the other end of the line, but she contained herself.  
  
“Hey Malcolm,” her voice croaked. Hoarse from the lack of sleep.  
  
_“Ann, hi. How are you?”_ Malcolm answered from the other end.  
  
“I’m-” Ann paused for a second to think, but quickly continued. “I’m fine,” she lied. “But I’ll have to cancel our night out tonight, the storm from last night really beat up the house. I need to check for damage and I think I won’t really be up for it to be at my best tonight.” It was a truth what she told.  
  
_“I see,”_ Malcolm murmured, his voice sounded deflated. _“I can come over and help you if you want?”  
_  
Ann looked up from the sandwich on her plate to the doll sitting in front of her. One of the rules was; no guests. Was Malcolm really a guest or a friend? She decided for the latter and nodded to affirm it to herself, plus she needed someone around her aside from the doll. Perhaps even to check her sanity after last night. “I would like that,” she confessed with a meek voice.  
  
_“Alright, I’ll see you in bit.”_  
  
“See you.”  
  
Ann set the phone back on the counter and took the doll on her arms. She went for the library and read some poems of Edgar Allan Poe out loud to him. She still could not find her laptop and blanket that she had left downstairs. Maybe they would turn up later. Then the doorbell rang much sooner then she thought.  
  
“Wait for me,” she said to the doll and stood up, pulling down the sleeves of her long red sweater that almost functioned as a dress, and hugged herself. Beneath it she wore black leggings with holes that were patched up with lace. It looked nice on her. Ann opened the front door to reveal a familiar face.  
  
“Malcolm,” she breathed in relief, smiling at seeing a kind face. She did not know what happened to her, but she stepped forward and hugged him, tears again closer than she liked.  
  
He hesitated for a moment but then padded her on the back in reassurance. “Nice, uh, to see you too.” Ann quickly drew away at that, flustered by her behaviour.  
  
“Sorry, just had a bad night thanks to that damned storm,” she told him the partial truth. “Not a big fan of them, but sleep is for the weak right?” She shrugged. He regarded her in a strange mixture of emotions, mostly amused thought but also a bit worried.  
  
“I can see that.”  
  
They paused, regarding the other in an awkward moment before Ann started, reminding herself of why he was here.  
  
“Right.”  
  
Ann quickly donned herself in her thick coat and pulled on some strong work-boots. Soon they paraded the perimeter around the house. It was still dreary and very windy outside, but at least it had stopped raining and flashing lightning and thunder.  
  
“So how is it? Living alone in such a huge house?” Malcolm inquired, indulging in his curiosity.  
  
“Odd. It feels like there something more too it,” Ann murmured, kicking up some leaves that she still needed to rake. “But I can’t put my finger on it. And of course it’s lonely, but that’s where your expertise comes in,” she joked and elbowed him playfully.  
  
“Jeez, I’m flattered,” Malcolm chuckled with heavy sarcasm dripping from his voice and gave her a sideway glance. The look in his eyes is what made Ann tear her own away to her feet, feeling awful and despicable. It had been a look of infatuation, a crush. Maybe even one of love.  
  
Ann was not ready for that yet.  
  
The atmosphere between them dwindled, the light-heartedness disappearing with the wind that tore at their coats and hair. After several rounds and closer inspections to the wood, doors and windows they conducted that the house was still in shape despite its age. Nothing was broken, sure it could use a lick of paint but that was for later concern.  
  
“Coffee?” Ann offered, trying to lift the mood.  
  
“Please.” Malcolm accepted it and soon they sat in the kitchen, each holding a steamy mug of the black liquid. Hers mingled though with cream and sugar, something that Malcolm defiled as blasphemy for the holy black water from the God of Caffeine. Ann discovered that he had a wild imagination, like hers.  
  
“So that boy in the painting is the real Brahms I presume?” She curiously asked and took a sip, it was scolding hot and nearly burning her tongue.  
  
“Yeah. He died in a fire, over twenty years ago. He was eight I believe. It’s why his parents had the doll made, so that in way they still cared for him.”  
  
Gently Ann placed down her cup on the table, the sides of it warming her cold hands. “I- I did not know. I suspected but-” she paused and saw the painting right before her minds-eye, in particular the little boy. “Jesus.”  
  
“I know,” Malcolm whispered, voice small. “I always think that they did it to preserve his memory of a little boy. So that he is still somewhat with them.”  
  
Twirling the cup Ann suddenly felt anxious. Should she tell him? About the doll switching places, the noises she heard? Instead she blurted out; “Can I call you at night?”  
  
He shot her a surprised look and blinked a few times. “Sure, but why?”  
  
Ann glanced up from her now drained cup of coffee and into his worried eyes, she noticed that they were a dark greyish green. Pretty. “Because I sometimes have the feeling I am not alone at night, that there is someone.. or something in or around the house.”  
  
Malcolm shifted, his face changing from surprise to disbelief to curiosity. “Why do you think that?”  
  
“Maybe it isn’t true, but sometimes I hear whispers or scuffling about. I empty the rat traps almost every day so that isn’t it and yesterday,” Ann quickly continued to defend herself. To prove that she wasn’t crazy. “Yesterday I thought I saw someone, outside. So I went there with a fire iron, but there was no one there.”  
  
‘ _Plus, I still can’t find my laptop or blanket._ ’  
  
“Are you sure it wasn’t a branch or-”  
  
“Yes, Malcolm,” Ann cut him off with a raised voice. Then she rubbed her tired eyes and ran the hand further back through her hair, feeling the knots tangled in the blond tresses. She was drained and she needed someone to believe her. “I’m sure of it.”  
  
“Maybe you should get away from this place, sleep a night in a hotel or something,” the man softly suggested after a pause.  
  
“I can handle this, it’s just I need someone to call if I’m scared or-,” she did not want continue that dark train of thought and stopped. “Please,” she looked up at him again. He had his eyes on his own empty cup and twirled it around his hands a few times before answering her with a smile.  
  
“Alright, but don’t forget my offer?” He reached out and placed one of his hands on top of hers, thumb rubbing her skin and squeezing it gently. Ann smiled, a huge load lifting from her shoulders now that she had someone to fall back on just in case.  
  
“I won’t. Thank you.”

* * *

  
“I’m sorry Greta,” Ann whispered through the phone mournfully, sitting cross-legged on her bed, mobile phone to her ear.  
  
_“We knew it was coming,”_ Greta’s static voice murmured from the other end. It sounded as if she had been crying or still was. _“I’m glad I was there when she passed, we all were.”  
  
_ “And that’s most important. If I can do anything to help you-?” Ann left the question hanging and started picking some loose strands of hair from her shirt. Her eyes glanced up to Brahms, who sat on a chair opposite of her bed next to the door.  
  
_“Thanks, I will let you know. Have you heard anything from the Heelshire’s yet?”  
  
_ Ann let herself fall down into the cushion and let her right leg lean on her bended left one, looking at her foot as she turned and twisted it, bone popping a bit. Her long legs were bare for the most part as she wore her pyjamas. This time a black top and bright yellow bottoms. It was Batman themed because Batman is awesome. She figured after the previous night it was nice to wash the other pair.  
  
“Nope nothing, not even a letter. You think they are alright?” Ann contemplated and winced when a cramp shot up her leg. She stretched it like a ballerina, flexing her toes to ease it. It helped somewhat.  
  
_“They told me it had been a while since they had a vacation. Maybe they are making the most of it by staying away for a few months? See the world when they still can?”  
  
_ “They did not told you how long they would be gone?”  
  
_“No.”  
  
_ “And you didn’t ask?”  
  
_“Not really, it was quite a unique opportunity with good pay and I took it. I didn’t think about it.. You’re not going mad are you?”_ Greta inquired with amusement clearly lacing through her words.  
  
“I was already mad, didn’t you notice?” Ann joked and grinned, her focus drifting from her bare leg to the ceiling. Even that was fancy. Some rooms had painted ceilings, others like hers contained some fashionable woodwork that antiquarians would die for.  
  
_“Sorry, I forgot I had to save you from the sanatorium.”  
  
_ “You’re forgiven.”  
  
_“I’m glad.”_ Greta was now clearly smiling due to her tone. _“Is Brahms nice to you?”  
  
_ Ann shot a glance at the doll and pulled herself again up in a seated position. “Yeah, it took some getting used to. My laptop and blanket are still missing.”  
  
_“I’m sure they will turn up, Brahms likes to play. I was scared at first too but he has something disarming over him,”_ Greta reassured her. Ann spluttered a bit.  
  
“I- I wasn’t scared!”  
  
_“Uh-uh,”_ came the disbelieving tone from the other end. Ann huffed but then smiled.  
  
“Hey, I think it’s time for bed by the way. I’ll talk to you later?”  
  
_“Of course. Relax, sleep tight and take care of Brahmsy.”  
  
_ “I will dear, night night and stay strong, alright? I’m here for you.”  
  
There was a small pause from the other end, then a soft. _“Thank you, goodnight.”_ And the call stopped.  
  
Ann put away her phone one her nightstand and flung herself off the bed. Bare feet thumping on the wooden boards as walked to the doll and picked him up. The weight of him familiar now on her arm. “Let’s get you to bed,” she cooed and exited her bedroom.  
  
The hallway was dark as she ventured towards his own room, but a crack and smash unlike something she had heard so far made her pause. Then the muffled sound of voices coming from downstairs.  
  
It was more than one and that made her heart rate speed up.  
  
Ann gripped the doll tighter and sneaked to the staircase, straining her ears to listen more than just her own rushing of blood and breathing. Crouched and crawling she descended the staircase, willing and praying to everything and what not that might or could be listening in to not let the wood creak beneath her feet. It did not and using the banister as support for her prone figure she peeked around the corner.  
  
There were two men in the hallway. One long other somewhat shorter, both bulky with equipment. They shone around torches, Ann ducked away to prevent herself being spotted and tried to calm her breathing.  
  
‘ _Intruders. Burglars._ ’  
  
“Look like this house isn’t so empty as you said,” the larger one grumbled in barely contained anger. Flashlight pointing to her coat and shoes near the front door.  
  
“The Heelshire’s are already gone for a month, who on earth should live _here_?” The other scoffed in defence. “I bet they died.” Ann ducked when the flashlight shone above her past the banister to the family portrait.  
  
“Their son died you know? In a fire. It’s rumoured he killed a girl: Emily something,” the man continued as he walked around. He took a candle holder and twirled it around, examining it. “Some say he still is within the house, his spirit.”  
  
“Stop with the nonsense and get to business, don’t forget why we are here,” the larger one growled. Cutting the other man off and strode around, peeking in the music room and the kitchen, shining around but not touching or taking anything. “Come on, let’s go upstairs.”  
  
Ann felt adrenaline coursing through her, she was scared; terrified. She needed to hide. Trying to be silent she crawled back up the stairs, in her haste to avoid being caught not noticing where she placed her feet. A floorboard groaned and the beams of light from the torches stopped as the men paused.  
  
“What was that?” The larger one barked, one torchlight shining around. Ann did not move a muscle.  
  
“There is no one _here_ , Larry,” the smaller one put out, stressing his words. “Maybe there are rats-” There was a smack of a hand against the back of a head. “Ah! Why did you do that for?”  
  
“I know what I heard and there were rattraps outside, I saw them when scouting around the house yesterday and there were lights.”  
  
“Maybe it was someone from the community home?”  
  
“Listen to me-” There was the sound of someone grabbing another’s vest. The material groaning.  
  
As the two were arguing Ann tried to skit up the staircase, keeping her breathing shallow but luck wasn’t on her side that night and she felt her foot slip on the cold wood with a large thump. The men stopped and Ann took her chance and sprung up.  
  
“HEY!”  
  
Ann ran as fast as she could, Brahms clutched against her and her feet pounding against the floor. She nearly slipped and barely made the corner when she arrived at her room. Ann nearly dived on her nightstand, snatching her phone of it and ducked underneath the bed, heart thundering against her ribs as terror was coursing through her veins. Heavy footfalls thundered towards the door that was wide open in her haste. They stopped in front of it.  
  
“Check the rooms. She must be here somewhere.” The burly one commanded. The feet that owned the voice ventured into her room. Meanwhile Ann clutched the phone against her chest with Brahms and unlocked it with trembling fingers. If she could just dial the emergency number, or Malcolm.  
  
Her heart dropped in her stomach when she pressed a tone and the sound of it resonated through the silent bedroom. The feet walking around stopped.  
  
“NO!” Ann screamed when large hands grabbed around her ankle and she was dragged from underneath the bed. She released Brahms and the phone to try and get a hold of the rug, but only got burns from it on her fingertips rather than a grip. When she was exposed the owner of the hands grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled her up, a large sweaty face came in to view.  
  
“There you are!” He seethed between his mismatched teeth, flinging drops of spit on her face.  
  
He was bald, hideous with a large nose and pig’s eyes, but he scared the fuck out of her. His accomplice ran into the room, a bit scrawnier and gaunt looking than his partner but equally as menacing.  
  
“Check under the bed, I bet she was trying to call. You conniving bitch!” The larger one called Larry growled shaking her. Ann reached up, grasping at his hand holding her hair, it was painful and she felt the follicles being torn out of her skull.  
  
“Let me go!” She pleaded.  
  
“Looks like she was Larry,” the smaller one chimed and held up her phone, the screen still emanating light. He threw it on the ground, the device was crushed along with her hope underneath the heel of his boot. “And I found this.” He held up Brahms.  
  
“Smash it, we don’t need it,” Larry commanded.  
  
“Don’t!” Ann screamed and let go of the hand that held her hair to reach out to the doll, but she watched in horror as the burglar took a hold of his feet and with a small jump let his head collide with the doorpost. The porcelain instantly smashed into a million pieces, scattering all over the place and she closed her eyes, holding up her arms to protect her face from the debris.  
  
All that was left were shards and dust. The eyeballs were made of carbon instead of porcelain and rolled down the hallway, stopping at the far side of the wall. Empty and void of life.  
  
Ann had little time to react, because before she knew it she was dragged across the floor by her hair, her hands and feet stumbling to catch up and getting cuts here and there because of the shards. Ann was lifted so that she could get a foothold but when she did her body was instantly pressed against the wall, arms twisted behind her back painfully. A hot puffy face rested against her cheek.  
  
“Now little missy,” he whispered sweetly in her ear but the tone was not gentle at all, causing her guts to twist in anxiety and the smell of his breath made her sick. “Where is the vault?” He pressed her arms up a little higher, causing Ann to wince in pain.  
  
“I don’t know! I don’t know what you are talking about! Let me go!” She yelled. Her yell erupted in a scream of agony when her arms were strained even more, the sound of it resonating through the silent house. It would not take a lot now for the bone to pop.  
  
“Please! I don’t know! If I did I would tell you, I swear!” Ann begged, tears of pain and fear threatening to spill over her cheeks. Her legs were trembling as she was forced to stand on her tiptoes.  
  
“Look, Larry, maybe she really doesn’t know-” the other mumbled. Sounding hesitant and unsure of the situation folding out in front of him.  
  
“I don’t _care_ Louis. Either way, she’s seen our faces,” his voice dropped hinting at that something that Ann was afraid off.  
  
‘ _Oh god._ ’  
  
It made something snapped inside of her. The pure instinct of preserving her life. If she were to die she would make them fight for it, for Ann was not someone to roll down and make it easy for them. With a growl she snapped her head back, colliding with the nose of the other hard. She heard it break. It caused his grip to falter and loosen as she flailed around.  
  
The moment she felt her feet touch the ground and her arms freed Ann flew. Running as fast as she could she took off towards the staircase, but a body collided against hers when she was at the base of it. Both of them tumbled over the edge of the bannister, the wooden ground forcing the air out of her lungs when she landed on her back. The front door was wide open just a few meters in front of her, the wind howling outside.  
  
A body crawled on top of her and strong thick fingers closed around the base of her neck. Larry’s face was red, contorted with rage as he loomed above her, using his weight to pin her down. Ann struggled, sputtered and when crawling at his hands around her throat did not work she reached out to his face. He yelled when she scratched him, blood dripping down from his nose on her own face. Ann tried to lift her hips, legs flailing but she could not get him off her. The house around them creaked and howled.  
  
Everything happened the same time; a scream coming from upstairs, tumbling and a body dropping down the staircase. A hand just visible in the corner of her peripheral. The burning torchlight rolled out of its motionless palm, turning a few times over before stopping due to a crease in the wood and shining sideways against the face of her attacker, making him even more hideous and scary. Ann was struggling to keep conscious with the man on top of her. Her lungs were burning for oxygen and her vision already slowly to blacken as she tried to keep scratching at his face to get him off of her, but the movements in her arms turned slow and weaker. Their grunting noises growing more silent and strained. The body on the staircase did not move.  
  
Out of the darkness stepping into the light of the torch another figure appeared behind Larry. With great violent strength he pulled the man from off of her, his nails scratching along the skin of her throat leaving a mark where Ann instantly reached to, gasping and sucking in sweet cold air.  
  
They were fighting, pulling punches and rolling around and over each other. Trying to get a control of her body Ann fought to stand and nearly fell down when the unknown male took the torchlight and bashed Larry’s head. Again and again and again until all movement seized. Dead.  
  
Ann stumbled towards the front door, willing her feet to run but instead she jumped down the small stone stairs in front of the door, almost falling on her knees but somehow managing to keep her balance. Then she ran. Wind whipped around her as her bare feet scoot up the leaves, adrenaline making her run harder for just a few steps. Forcing her not to feel the pain of her arms, the cuts on her skin or the bruising on her throat. But she wheezed, drained and slowed down too much. She could just hear another pair of feet rapidly approaching her before she was knocked down again in the bed of wet leaves.  
  
Ann tried to scramble up again, crying in panic but her fingers could not find a grip in the leaves not the soil below it. Then something heavy pressed down from on top of her, a hand right between her shoulder blades. Though cloth separated the skin it felt like a branding and Ann clenched her eyes shut, not wanting to see.  
  
If she were to die than she willed it rather be quick.  
  
Nothing happened, instead of the sound of someone standing above her, lowering himself down to the ground with knees on either side of her hips squeezing a bit. He breathed very heavily, as if greatly strained or exhausted. Ann inhaled sharply when the hand between her shoulder blades trailed upwards and brushed away her tangled blond hair from her neck. A lone warm finger brushed the scratches along her bare skin that her attacker had left. The touch was almost tender, careful, but the owner of the same hand had just killed two people. Ann clenched her fists and gritted her jaw in fear, her body taught and tense and her instincts screaming at her in panic.  
  
Abruptly the hand pulled back and for a moment there was nothing but the feel of knees squeezing the side of her hips and the laboured breathing above her, it felt like an eternity. Then he stood and pulled her up with him, grip tight on her arms. Ann wanted to scream, to fight, but his other hand clasped around her mouth and she was dragged along with him. Back to the house.  
  
Back into a nightmare.


	5. And The World Was Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured Brahms is not a man with multiple personalities, but judging by the way his parents fear him, a man who completely understands what he's doing and why. Using the doll and its typical voice as a medium to connect at first, to coerce. So I'll write him more as the 'man' rather than the child unless he tries to soothe or convince Ann. I hope you like my take on him.
> 
> A relatively short chapter since I'm off working again. Updating will slow just a bit.  
> I reread it several times and tried to fix some errors. If you find any; sorry!

Unable to contain the trembling of her body Ann was on her bare knees on the floor, hands clenched to tight fists as she tried not to get sick at the sound of bodies getting dragged. Her skin was glistening with sweat, despite the open front door of the house and the cold draft it brought along. It was because of a combination of shock, stress and pain. Against every fibre of her being Ann opened her blue eyes.  
  
A man, taller than the now dead burglars, muscled yet lean, had his back turned to her as he was wrapping a body into a rug. A larger bundle laying just ahead, already wrapped and ready to be buried. She watched his back, though covered by a thick green cardigan it was broad and strong looking. Everything was lit sharply by the torchlight on the floor, making it more eerily and demented.  
  
Ann tore her eyes away when he stopped and straightened himself, stretching and breathing hard. Her glance scooted to the left at the wooden floor, just a meter away where she sat on her knees. It was where she had been lying on the floor not just 10 minutes ago, fighting for her life when it was squeezed out of her. Her hand shot to her bruised and scratched throat.  
  
Footsteps approached her and she clenched her eyes shut again, wishing it would all just go away and that this was some deranged nightmare. But the sound of someone crouching down in front of her, stroking away a strand of hair from her face told her it wasn’t. Ann instinctively turned her head away from the touch that burned her cold skin. Fingertips ghosted across the skin of cheek, having followed the motion of her head, and down to her throat where her own hand had dropped from to her lap, Ann inhaled sharply fearing what was about to come. Instantly the fingers retreated, the rush of wind in front of her as the unknown male stood up swiftly. He walked away from her back to the bodies and dragged them outside by their feet, heads thumping sickly on the concrete steps.  
  
Ann opened her eyes again, noticing that she was alone now, the sound of digging coming from outside. The fleeting thought of running passed her head in a flash but was instantly squashed down. Not now. Survive first. The man digging the graves appeared stronger than her and was definitely faster by how quickly he had caught her. If you couldn’t outrun or fight them, be smarter.  
  
“Live to fight another day,” she whispered to herself, clinging to the lingering hope deep inside of her and willed her body to move. To stand. She did so like a new-born foal, trembling and stumbling because her legs just would not comply. Ann was exhausted, drained, but forced herself to move. She walked to the staircase and leaned against it, trying to shallow out her breathing. The thumping of feet caused her to turn, banister pressing against her back.  
  
The man, of who she wasn’t sure to call ‘saviour’ stood in the doorway. Sweat glistened across his chest that was adorned with black fur, heaving up and down, a white top clung around the rest of his torso beneath the green cardigan. His hair was nearly black, curling around his face that was hidden by a mask that shockingly looked a lot like the doll except for his eyes; that were wide, intense and gleaming in the torchlight. A the thick lush beard peeked out from underneath the rim of the face-hiding object.  
  
“Don’t be scared, Annie,” he cooed in a high-pitched voice. The same that she heard over the phone few days prior. “I’ll be good, I swear.”  
  
“Brahms?” She asked, her voice barely a whisper and she swallowed thickly. It hurt to speak but her mind was finally catching up with her.  
  
‘ _Was this the real one? The one behind the doll?_ ’  
   
In silence the man closed and locked the front door behind him, then moved towards her in long strides quickly closing their distance on the way scooping up the torchlight from the floor. His length was boggling, easily towering over her and making her feel small and petite wishing that she could sink through the banister that was preventing her from moving. Ann let her gaze drop to his chest that was just about eye-height, her hands clinging to the wood behind her as the tip of his mask scratched the crown of her head.  
  
He inhaled several times deeply. _Smelling her_. She also could not help to inhale his scent with each breath she took. He smelled of sweat, dirt because of the bodies he just buried and something she could only identify as purely male.  
  
Then he reached down and behind her, his arms compassing her and pressing her face into the soft skin of his neck, he was hot to the touch. Before Ann could panic or scream Brahms already leant back, having a gentle but firm hold on her wrists, his hands indeed covered in dirt and blood. Silently he turned her around, hands sliding up to her naked shoulders smearing the grime across her pale arms where the hairs stood on end. Ann pulled them up, instinctively trying to escape and protect her neck but failing, body taught like a bowstring especially when she felt the brush his chest against her back. She inhaled sharply.  
  
“Go to bed, Annie.”  
  
His voice had dropped several octaves to a dark deep grumbling that was more fitting for a man his size and stature instead his of childish tone he used before. His breath caressed the shelf of his ear, the beard gently brushing against the soft skin behind it. Ann had to stop herself from whimpering and instantly he released her shoulders.  
  
Stumbling she went up the stairs, eyes burning on her back until she was gone from his gaze. Her strides growing faster, bare feet pounding on the floor she fled to her room but did not feel safe even when she locked the door. Heaving she clutched around the porcelain toilet and threw up the remaining contents from her stomach, shivering and sweating.  
  
She realized her nightmare had just begun.

* * *

  
Exhausted Ann woke from her slumber. It was barely even dawn but she could not find sleep again. With apprehension she showered, got dressed and forced herself to venture outside to face whatever was waiting for her.  
  
Which was nothing.  
  
The remainders of the doll were gone, not a shard to be found and Brahms room was as equally a void from any traces of the doll nor the real person behind it. An uncomfortable dreading feeling settled inside her gut as she went downstairs, finding every trace of the previous night to be erased. Not a drop of blood could be seen. Brahms had removed all evidence and if it weren’t from the purple bruising and scratchings on her neck Ann would otherwise think it had been the worst kind of dreams.  
  
It unfortunately wasn’t.  
  
Wary like a skittish animal Ann investigated the house, there was still no trace of Brahms and the silence was deafening and unsettling her. With the intent of making breakfast she ventured into the void kitchen. Her eyes instantly spotted the old-fashioned phone.  
  
Ann glanced around, ears straining but not detecting any noise and then tentatively walked towards the thing that could save her, her lifeline. The tips of her fingers brushed the smooth black horn, before gripping it so tightly that the knuckles in her hand turned white. She held her breath when she picked it up and brought it to her ear. Instantly she deflated and felt like crying.  
  
The line was dead.  
  
That meant she had no means to call for help and thus her options were reduced to one; Malcolm. It was Sunday and that meant he either was coming tomorrow or Thursday. Ann exhaled forcefully to calm herself down and muster her courage. That meant she had to survive either a day or half a week. She hoped she wouldn’t have to deal with Brahms until then.  
  
‘ _But he killed those two easily. What if he killed Malcolm?_ ’ the dark thought piped up, almost squashing her hope. She quelled it, refusing to think that way and gripped the kitchen counter tightly after putting the horn back on the phone. Panic threatened to bobble up and Ann swallowed thickly.  
  
‘ _Calm, be calm and think. Be smart.’_  
  
First food. Then action. Ann tore open to the fridge to get some eggs but its contents made her pause. There was already a plate with a peanut butter sandwich on it, a note attached to it.  
  
“For Ann,” she read out loud and gingerly took the plate, closed the fridge door and sat down at the kitchen table. She took the note, turning it over but nothing else was written on it. The sandwich looked normal, plain. She looked between it, smelled it; but it was just a regular sandwich. The first bite proved it.  
  
In silence she munched on it, almost expecting it to be drugged but it wasn’t and it tasted normal. Finishing sooner than she thought she laid it away in the sink and jugged down a glass of milk that also stood ready for her.  
  
The running hot sink water did not muffle out the footsteps approaching the doorway of the kitchen. With renewed alertness and strained ears Ann washed the dishes, her heart starting to elevate when the footfalls turned to pitter patter on the marble kitchen floor, approaching her. _His_ scent overwhelming her, clinging to her very being as he ventured closer. Finishing off and putting the now clean dishes in the rack next to the sink to dry Ann turned off the faucet, but held onto the brush tightly below the remaining dishwater. The heat of another’s body emanated from behind her and a pair of hands settled on each side of her, trapping her.  
  
Ann did not have to turn around to know who they belonged to.  
  
“Did you like the sandwich, Annie?” A child-like voice chimed from directly behind her.  
  
Ann nodded curtly. “I did,” she whispered back, trying to control the tremors in her voice and stared ahead of her out the window. Outside it was grey and foggy, trees completely bare. “Thank you Brahms, also for the cleaning up.”  
  
A chin was laid down on her shoulder, the side of his mask and a bit of his beard scratched her jaw. Ann felt the brush of a knife against her hand in the murky dishwater, blood rushing in her ears as her body was getting ready. But ready for what? A chest pressed against her back, but she was determined not to move, not to be squashed against him and the counter. Her stomach clenched in anxiety.  
  
“I was raised well,” his voice whispered in her ear, still high-pitched.  
   
The brush of the porcelain nose of his mask was what set her off.  
  
Ann’s tensed body wanted to explode into movement, the instincts to fight forcing her to let go of the brush, fingers finding the heft of the knife instead. She instinctively planned to turn around and shove of the knife in whatever part of his body that she encountered but when she even barely lift it out of the water his hands caught her wrist in an iron grip. With a growl he took an impossible step forward, bracing his hips against hers and pressing her harshly against the counter.  
  
Brahms squeezed and for the fear of breaking a wrist Ann let go, the knife clattering out of her wet hands on the counter. She cried out when bent her over slightly, acutely aware of how their bodies mould together. This all happened in less than two seconds, overwhelming her.  
  
“You think you are smart,” Brahms breathed against her neck, voice no longer high-pitched but so dangerously low that her fighting instincts nearly paved way for petrifying fear. Ann struggled a bit, but her bent her over even more until the ends of her hair sunk into the dishwater. He had her hands splayed across the counter on either side of the sink, rendering her immobile.  
  
“But you’re _mine_ now,” he growled and gave her hips a small buck with his own, causing Ann to gasp at the evident sensation of his taught pants.  
  
In an instant he removed himself completely from her, causing her to falter a bit. With regained balance Ann turned around to meet his eyes but he already left the kitchen, laughing out loud in a manner that was far from comforting or emanating warmth. Ann slid down on the cold kitchen floor, hugging her knees and tears welling up. She felt completely and utterly alone.


	6. Doubts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I don't write these things quite often. I once read (whilst looking for some footholds how to write these type of scenes) that I had to arouse the reader for it to work. So who is daring to be honest and tell me about it? Is it good? If not, what can I improve? If so, what did you like about it? 
> 
> To be honest, it was very enjoyable to write and much easier than I thought. Enjoy!

Her heart was elevating in suspense, fingers closing around the smooth metal of the lid of her laptop. She had quickly retreated upstairs after breakfast and was seated on the toilet of her bathroom, door closed and locked. It was the only possible place where he could not see her, or spy on her, for she had noticed that Brahms ventured between the walls. Living there for over twenty years and communicating with the outside world via the doll.  
  
The gut wrenching paranoia had settled then in her stomach and so she retreated to the cold sterile confines of her bathroom. Laptop on her lap and a small brief hope flickering inside of her. Maybe he hadn’t found the WAP, maybe he had, but she had to check.  
  
A few days earlier it would not turn on, but when her finger pressed the power button and the electronic device made a the familiar hum, almost a literal weight fell off her shoulders. Ann breathed in relief and willed it to be faster, her eyes casting glances to the bathroom door. It would only be a matter of time before Brahms noticed her gone.  
  
Finally what felt like ages Ann could punch her password and her desktop showed. Her eyes shot to the bottom right corner, hoping the WIFI fan-thing to show. It searched, searched, but nothing came up.  
  
_[Network not found]_  
  
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” She breathed and slammed her laptop shut, pulling a hand through her blond hair. She had to go to the attic.  
  
Leaving her room, her stride was fast but she tried to be quiet at the same time not wanting to alert Brahms from wherever he was lurking. She scooted up another staircase and eyed the hatch above her, heart still rapid in her throat. It had to be there, it just had to.  
  
She hoped it just malfunctioned.  
  
After pulling down the hatch with the cane and fastening it together with a chair like before Ann climbed up, the steps creaking beneath her weight. She peaked over the edge, hoping to see the green blinking light in the windowsill but saw nothing, not even its outlines. It was gone. Ann cursed, her hope crushed and feeling panic rise up to rear its head that she tried to supress.  
  
‘ _Don’t panic. Think. Malcolm will be here tomorrow. He can help me._ ’  
  
She carefully lifted the chair and cane from the ladder which instantly folded in on itself and collapsed back up, hatch closing behind it with a lot of noise. When Ann turned to walk away something, or rather someone, was in the way.  
  
Ann screamed in surprise of Brahms emotionless porcelain mask and fell back in fright, the wooden floor though carpeted was not soft when she landed. He approached her, body taught and chest heaving and Ann scooted backwards as fast as she could. Panic now definitely coursing through her veins that she could not control.  
  
“Looking for something, Annie?” Brahms whispered, high-pitched but fluctuating and held up the device she was looking for. Clearly broken. He threw it on the floor, causing her to flinch and she pressed herself against the wall pulling up her knees to protect herself. Brahms kept approaching, slow but tense like a predator ready to pounce. His eyes were shadowed and he was emanating danger.  
  
“You know you are not allowed to go to the attic, Annie,” he chimed ever so innocently. “Don’t do that again, okay?”  
  
Ann wished to sink into the wall, to disappear, but she could not. She had to face him as he stopped right in front of her and sank down on his hunches, forcing her legs to stretch thus removing her protection. He was close that his knees touched the wall on either side of her and still he towered over her, throat on eye level. His Adams apple bobbed up and down when he swallowed thickly, barely hidden beneath his lush beard.  
  
Ann tried to pull up her arms in defence for if he wanted to hit her and shut her eyes, but they were violently torn down.  
  
“Please,” she begged in a very small voice. For what she did not know.  
  
She was surrounded by him, his aura, his smell, his being. Sitting in the darkness of his shadow. A hand cupped the side of her face, large, calloused and warm. His thumb rubbed the underside of her jaw with slight pressure just above where the bruises started, leaving a ghost trail in its wake.  
  
‘ _He won’t hurt me, he won’t hurt me._ ’  
  
The thought a mantra in her head when he leaned in even more, almost holding her breath in anticipation for whatever was about to come. His dark curls touched her face and the echo of his breathing against the inside of her mask was unsettling and strange. The brush of his porcelain cheek touching hers made Ann trying to avert her head but the hand cupping her face only had to squeeze slightly in warning.  
  
“I’m sorry he marked you,” he whispered then in her ear, voice gruff and no longer childish. Thick with so many mixed emotions that Ann could not understand.  
  
The hand cupping her face trailed lower now, fingers ghosting across the bruised and scratched skin of her throat, the wounds now crusted. They lowered still to the nape of her neck and collarbone, his thumb rubbing the dip between them in circular motions, slowly venturing down to her breast bone. Her hands were clenched into tight fists, resting on the carpet. She wanted to slap the hand away, but feared the repercussions too much to do so. Her abdominal muscles tremored, conflicted between fear and the strange spark or arousal that surged through her. Her heart was hammering against the tip of his fingers that ghosted across the rim of her shirt. Suddenly his other hand brushed against her leg.  
  
“Brahms!” Ann yelled.  
  
It caused Brahms to retreat entirely and immediate, the light he had been blocking fierce and making her blink. Ann quickly jumped to her feet and watched him watch her. If he were a dog he would cock his head in curiosity at her outburst, but she could see in his wide eyes that he was conflicted too.. or restrained.  
  
‘ _The schedule.’_  
  
“W-we have no time for games,” she stammered with flustered cheeks, trying to quell her terror and be brave. For God’s sake be brave. “We have a schedule to hold on to. Come on.” On the balls of her sock-clad feet Ann turned and walked off, tense and shoulders pulled up. As she ventured down two staircases, her shadow was accompanied by his silent seemingly calm one. At the front door Ann turned around, noticing Brahms standing just a few meters away from her. His eyes were dark, questioning.  
  
“If you clean the rat traps, I’m going to make lunch. Okay?” She asked, stilling the hope in her tone. She needed to be alone, to calm down. To think.  
  
Brahms stood there for what felt like an eternity. At first she thought he hadn’t heard her or was about to burst but then he moved, grabbing a coat from the rack and pulling on some shoes on his bare feet. When he walked passed her, his eyes shot her a glance. A warning.  
  
One that Ann needed to heed.  
  
The front door opened behind her, groaning loudly and the waft of cold air made her shiver, but even before she could hug herself for warmth it closed again with a resonating sound. Then she was alone again.  
  
Lunch happened without much tumult. Brahms ate alone, only leaving an empty plate like before all of this happened. The wonder of what he looked like underneath the mask was brief. The rest of the day passed by with an underlying tension inside of her because of the lack of Brahms’ presence around her. Ann felt tired, paranoid and every creak made her strain her hearing or sight just in case. She did not want to be surprised again, but it took a toll on her mind.  
  
Utterly drained she collapsed on her bed after dressing into her pyjama’s. Exhausted to the point that she did not even bother to hide underneath the blankets. It was no use, he could walk and go anywhere in the house. Ann found herself slowly giving up, the sliver of hope that was Malcolm just a faint thought in the back of her mind.  
  
Sleep was quick to reign in her thoughts.

* * *

 _A pair of hands, big and warm brushed her sides causing her shirt to bunch up. The same hands that possessed so much strength to kill now gently grasped both sides of her pelvis, skin against skin. They slowly went higher up her back whilst adding some pressure to the end of the digits, kneading slightly along the way. Her flesh broke out into goose bumps of delight and Ann inhaled sharply when the hands ventured underneath her shirt towards yet to be touched skin, stopping just below her bare breasts. The tips touched the underside barely before his hands brushed back down to her waist and pelvis in one smooth motion, repeating. With each repeat etching a bit higher than before._  
  
_The man that had been crouched above her slowly sat down on the hind of her thighs, his own pelvis pressed against her soft flesh of her behind. Both still clothed but she knew it would not take long. Her abdomen clenched in arousal._  
  
_His fingers now touched the side of her breasts and Ann inhaled sharply in anticipation, shutting her eyes. Her legs pressed together to add friction. Suddenly he moved forwards to follow his hands up your body and lips brushed the spot just behind her ears in a teasing way that caused her fists to grip the sheets beneath her. He breathed heavy, constrained and the coarse hair of his beard was rough against her skin in the most delightful way possible._  
  
_She was engulfed by him, pressed firmly into the matrass below by a strong, bare chest covered with the fur that made a man a man. Skin way too sensitive and trembling beneath his touch that now lingered on her waist, touching her just the right enticing way. Ann moaned when she felt him buck against her bum, hinting at his own arousal that was firm and hard in his pants. Ann moaned and pressed her behind back against him, she felt her own wetness trickle between her lower lips. Soaking her underwear._  
  
_God how she needed him so much._  
  
_“Whisper my name,” he growled in her ears, voice no longer muffled by a mask. He grinded again, causing her toes to curl. The tone so deep and possessively that it almost made her mewl like a cat in heat.  
_

* * *

  
“Brahms.”  
  
The name rolled off her lips in a breathy groan before she could even stop or think about it. Ann blinked several times, sleep instantly fading from her head but the heat in her body lingered. She sighed, pressing her palms against her eyes and at the same times pressing her thighs together. The arousal very clear and evident, making her hot and bothered.  
  
Ann had to fight down the urge to relief herself, to give in to the satisfaction and her instincts. Her skin was covered with a thin layer of sweat as if her dream had actually happened. A deep disturbing part of her wished that it had.. or was happening right here right now.  
  
Violently she threw herself of the bed and stammered into her bathroom. Turning on the shower, stripping herself and doused her body underneath the onslaught of cold water extinguishing her heat in the process. What was she thinking? How _could she_ be even thing that? Ann was greatly disturbed by her own treacherous mind and body.  
  
Ann wanted to sink down, to crawl into a hole and not come out of it, but that same part that was disturbed of her actions and thoughts was also rebelling. Willing her to fight, to not give up or roll over and accept her looming fate. She was going to get out of here, she just had to.


	7. Despair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a very long chapter, but since you people asked for it ;) Here's one with a cliffhanger. Thank you for the comments and Kudos!
> 
> The poem is real and much longer than what I used. It's very fitting for the story, I suggest you look it up and read it. Most of her works are like that and very interesting!

Breakfast was made alone, no trace of Brahms yet this morning and that struck Ann as odd. It was like he was planning something, or waiting. Perhaps he enjoyed her slowly going insane because of his inactivity. The human mind worked in curious ways. So curiously that Ann was slowly getting used to the constant wariness that she even was getting relaxed in a sense. The barely warm egg on her bread was still tasteful as she pulled herself from her drifting thoughts and started to consume it. She was going to need the energy.

The ring of the doorbell was like the chime of a church bell. Loud and echoing through the empty house. Ann breathed slowly, she had to be careful now. Trying to hint at Malcolm that something was wrong but not be so obvious that Brahms would know her plan.

“Hey Malcolm,” Ann exclaimed brightly as she opened the door and stepped aside to make way for him. She shivered due to the cold she let in and hugged herself despite that she was wearing a top and knitted vest over it. She wore a scarf to hide her bruising.

Malcolm smiled at her, charming as ever and tipped his head. “Hey there Ann, still surviving I see?”

She returned the smile as best as she could, but it lacked heart. “Yeah, still am. I’m going to set up some music for Brahms whilst you unload. I help you shortly.” At that she turned on the balls of her socked feet and ventured towards the music room. Perhaps if she played it louder than normal Brahms would not hear her conversation. As she gently took one of Brahms favourite loud classical compositions she heard a creak to her left.

It was nothing. Now more on edge Ann swallowed thickly, placing the record on the player and let the needle fall down on it. It was something from Bach, or Mozart. Ann did not remember nor was interested in it; It was loud, booming and distracting and that was more important. She walked away from the music room to help Malcolm with his task of organizing the cellar.

 _‘Relax.’_ Her inner voice soothed her as she listened to Malcolm’s telling about his younger brother and that he was going to get married soon. When they finished and the man wanted to take the crates and climb out of the darkness Ann decided to be bold.

“Wait, Malcolm,” she whispered and reach out, grabbing his hand to prevent him climbing up there. “I need to tell you something.”

He looked at her, the light bulb above their heads casting down sharp shadows across his face. A crease appeared between his brows as he waited. Her mind was working overtime as she still had no clue on how to say it, how to give a hint. Her mouth opened and closed, but nothing came.

Above them behind Malcolm, Brahms silently walked by. Causing the words that laid on the tip of Ann’s tongue to dissolve and be swallowed back down. The muscles in his arm flexed when he lifted one hand, a lone finger pressing against the lips of his porcelain mask. Then he left.

_‘I can’t tell him.’_

“Ann, is something wrong?”

She blinked and her gaze flitted back to the grocer in front of her, still waiting for her answer. He looked over her shoulder to where she had been gazing at Brahms, only the doorway was now void of any entity. He turned back to her, clearly worried.

“Ann?”

She smiled though she was close to crying and had to force back the tears. Her courage that she had tried to muster up so badly was faltering desperately. She shook her head and walked passed him so that he could not see the despair on her face. “It’s nothing, just some rampaging thoughts.”

The time that she climbed up the small stairs and out of the cellar was enough to compose herself and straighten out her expression. She carried along the crates towards his car like she used to do before. Malcolm had not said anything, merely regarded her with that ever-lasting worried gaze in those puppy eyes of his, they then flicked down to her neck.

“Ann, what is this?” He whispered, pulling down the fabric of her scarf just slightly before she gently pushed away his hand and stepped forward. Her arms instantly wrapped around him in a hug, different than the one they shared before. This was desperate.

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” Ann quickly whispered in his ears before he was about to talk again. She felt the familiar sting of tears welling up her eyes, sighing she hugged him tighter, burying her face in his shoulder. Slowly she felt his arms encompass her, soothing though clumsy. Her focus flicked to the house in her peripheral, trying to sense of Brahms was watching, he probably was. Then she closed them, trying to savour the contact of a normal human being and how safe she felt. “Things are not always what they seem,” Ann spoke, slowly and emphasizing every word before pulling back out of his arms, knowing she was being weird and enigmatic. Her gaze went instantly to her feet when she felt tears escaping her eyes that she quickly wiped away.

“Ann, if I can do anything to help?” Malcolm began, leaving the offer drift between their midst and took a step forward to close their distance again. His comforting hand was warm on her shoulder. Instead of engaging him again Ann tore her lips in a rueful smile, to signal that she was ‘alright’ and squeezed his hand.

“You already are in a way, but keep looking.” She then tore her being out of her hold and walked up the stairs to the front door of the house. Ann turned to watch him, he doing the same but with an odd expression in his face and eyes before nodding at her in goodbye and getting into his car. Ann hoped as he drove away. Oh, how she hoped that he would put two and two together. That he would think and act.

Not able to bear watching him leave any longer she fled inside and closed the door behind her, pressing her back to the hard wood and closed her eyes, taking a deep inhale of oxygen through her nose. Ann forced the rest of her tears back, crying would not help her, along with the terror of what was about to come. Or what Brahms might have seen or interpreted. The heavy classical music was still booming throughout the house

_‘Don’t think what is about to come, stay in the here and now.’_

“Stick to the schedule,” she whispered to herself. Trying to get some comfort out of it. Maybe if she would get Brahms’ trust or if she was sure when and where he slept she could sneak away? Right now his own routine was unknown to her, she had to know and memorize it.

Forcing herself to move, Ann went to the music room and toned it down a bit, her ears nearly ringing and put on a piece of Ludovico Einaudi. Moving piano pieces that were so much more relatable to her rather than Bach or Mozart. And the day crept by.

With the melody of I Giorni still in her head she prepared dinner, her presence once again grazed with Brahms’ who decided to sit down with her around the table for the first time instead of eating alone. Brahms said nothing, his dark brown eyes just staring at her and paying no heed to the dinner that she placed down in front of him. He had yet to mention Malcolm.

“Here you go, Brahms,” she murmured, feeling the need to get away out of his immediate surroundings as soon as possible and wanted to walk down to the other end of the table. Before she could even set a foot in that direction her arm was grasped, tightly but not hurting. Ann turned to see Brahms’ brown eyes fixed on her, they flickered to the seat next to him and back to hers. Instantly Ann understood.

Feeling eerily on the spot she set down her own plate and utensils and drew the seat back next to him, as far as sitting next to him was possible for he sat at the head of the table. A trembling sigh left her lips as she sat down and brushed the strands of hair behind her ear that escaped the bun on the back of her head, she tried to ignore him as she cut the meatball in half to cool and ate some vegetables.

For an entirety he just watched her eat, not even sparing his own plate a glance which confirmed her suspicions that he only ate alone. Whatever was beneath that mask he did not want for her eyes to see.

“Are you burned?” The bold question rolling of her tongue before she could stop it, the uncomfortable silence too much to bare. “Because, I’m was told that you had supposedly died in a fire,” she carefully elaborated and dared to look up from her plate, having only eaten half of her meal due to the tight knot in her stomach.

Brahms cocked his head for a moment, curiously and his eyes flickered between her own. Thinking he would not answer her question Ann felt her cheeks burn and let her gaze fall back down to her plate, strangely flustered and ashamed.

“I am.”

The words coming from his mouth were deep, rumbling but held emotion that made her look up again. She could not read the look in his dark eyes, but in that split second of vulnerability he looked the most human to her than she had ever seen from him.

He was still affected about what had happened, maybe even insecure about the way he looked or never gotten help to deal with it. Those were assumptions that flicked through her mind in a second, but they were not confirmed by him because he remained the rest of the meal silent. Her curiosity was peaked though.

After dinner Ann left to give Brahms his privacy to eat alone, later when he was done she cleaned the dishes and the kitchen whilst he stood there, behind her. Watching. It was still unnerving, his lurking nature, but the burning eyes were getting familiar and almost easier to ignore. Still, it kept her on her toes. When she finished cleaning up he motioned for her to follow him, so she did.

Today he had apparently decided to change his dirty white top into a black one, but still wore the same grey suspenders, cardigan and no shoes, his pants just simple jeans. She figured that the woollen knit cardigan was a favourite. He led her towards the library, apparently expecting for her to follow for he hadn’t turned around.

Ann halted her stride when he did. Brahms eyed her for a moment before venturing to one of the bookcases that reached all the way up to the ceiling, filled to the brim with books which the backs of were leather-bound and adorned with shiny golden writing. They all looked incredibly expensive and not some simple light reading. Brahms searched and after a small while he then finally pulled one out of it, then strode over towards her.

Ann purposefully avoided his face as he held out the book he had taken; it was small in size as well as thickness. Not quite one of the tomes that littered the place. She gingerly took it, the cover purplish grey with thick printed white letters.

“There is no Frigate like a Book,” Ann read out loud. “By Emily Dickinson. Do you want me to read this?” She asked sceptical and looked up.

“Please, Annie?” He chimed then, child-like again. His wild dark curls hanging in front of his eerie emotionless porcelain face of where his eyes were like dark black coals. Ann then swallowed and nodded, as she did so something crossed his gaze that was indescribable. Joy? Amusement? Or something darker? An uncomfortable feeling settled inside of her. Ann was intimidated.

Brahms turned and walked to the only chair in the room. He sat down on it and looked at her in what she could only described as expectance. Literally on the spot, feeling as if she was on a stage with a thousand people looking at her, Ann took a deep breath when the realization of what that was dawned upon her. Nervousness curling inside of her when she opened the book of which the pages were yellowed and stiff due to age, the irrational fear of public humiliation evident in her gut but she was not on a podium; she was in a room with just Brahms listening to her.

Perhaps that was even worse.

“I cannot live with You,” Ann began, the first phrase instantly hitting her like a brick wall. She quickly continued, fearing the repercussions if she would not and to prove it was the start of the poem. “It would be Life. And Life is over there; behind the Shelf.”

“I could not die, with You. For One must wait to shut the Other’s Gaze down. You, could not. And I? Could I stand by and see you freeze, without my Right of Frost? Death’s privilege?”

Ann’s voice was loud and clear as she read the poem ‘I Cannot Live with You,’ found it very fitting for her own situation, but also very confronting. She had the feeling it was filled with hate, resentment but also love for the other. That the ones of whom the Poem was written about were spiteful but in the same time could not bear to be without each other. Ann noticed Brahms getting up from his chair and walk around her, disappearing from her peripheral. It took all of her will to keep reading. The hairs in her neck standing on end as her senses heightened in alarm and her heart elevated.

“So we must meet apart. You there and I here, with just the door ajar,” Ann read out loud, reminding herself to keep going despite the obvious male presence just behind her. She felt his chest brush against the fabric of her back like a feather, not fully connecting but the hint was there. Her voice hitched but she kept continuing with the poem even when his hand gently brushed her hair to one side. His breathing, though muffled by his mask, very close to her ear. A pair of large, strong and warm hands settled on her hips, adding light pressure.

“That oceans are, and prayer. And that white sustenance.” A nauseating lump formed in the back of her throat when the hands travelled forwards towards her stomach. The muscles beneath the pressure of his finger trembling, clenching. They barely skimmed the hem of her shirt, hinting to touch her bare flesh. The side of his porcelain face was pressed against her own. The skin she felt behind the rim of it that buried itself in the soft flesh of her cheek, was warm and sweaty. His odour, his musk filled her nose.

“Despair,” she finished in a very small voice and the book fell out of her shaking hands when she was instantly pulled flush against Brahms chest.


	8. Brand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably will adjust the chapter here and there, but I just HAD to post this before going to work. Enjoy!
> 
> I have not checked this yet on grammatical errors.

A whimper left her throat when arms constricted her like a snake.  
  
One of them brushed upwards, as if to cup a breast but it went passed it to settle in between. Adding the same amount of pressure inch after inch and causing her shirt to ride up. The other arm was around her waist, now skin to skin and pinning her against the wall of muscle behind her. The tips of strong fingers pressing down on the base of her throat, palm resting just on the top of her sternum. Ann placed her shaking hands on his forearms, ready to tear at him should he want to harm her. It felt like he was trying to press himself inside of her via bodily contact.  
  
It was utterly terrifying, being restrained in such a constricting way. Ann swallowed thickly, closing her eyes as the hand on the base of his throat ventured more upwards settling just below her jaw on the still bruised skin, purple having faded into green. Her heart elevated due to the threat of being asphyxiated, memories of the last attempt just a few days ago still so very fresh in her mind. Blood surged through her ears filled with adrenaline and fear.  
  
The arm around her waist coiled tighter, the fingers kneading her soft flesh. Thumb gracing it in back-and-forth motions adding pressure here and there before releasing. He was massaging her.  
  
“B-brahms?”  
  
“Shhh,” His deep gruff voice soothed against the side of her face. The sheer tone of it sending a shiver down her spine, not out of fear but rather out of arousal. That was even more disturbing.  
Ann let her head fall back on his shoulder to escape the pressure he did not release on the sensitive skin of her throat, a gasp leaving her lips in the process. His beard graced her cheek when he smiled.  
  
The grip on her waist lessened somewhat when his hand ventured to the centre of her exposed stomach. His hot touch was a brand on her skin, causing goose bumps to erupt and her hands grip his forearms tighter. She felt pressure on the back of her pelvis, his own hips pressing against hers in such a way so that her own were titled forwards. The tips of his fingers skimmed the edge of her pants, then they suddenly scooted up below her shirt to the middle of her bra and Ann’s breath hitched. Thinking that he would go pass the garment but Brahms did not. He just ventured below it, tapping on her flesh in a teasing manner before going back down in stroking circular motions. He wanted to feel every dip, every curve of her lower torso. Muscles trembled beneath his touch.  
  
“Stop,” she whimpered. He did not comply.  
  
His breathing was heavy in her ears and she could feel him getting aroused because of the increasing pressure against her bum. Ann found herself breathing along with him and her grip on his arms did not falter, they were her life line. Her eyes flung open when he grinded against her, hips against hips. The soft flesh of her behind giving in to his pelvic muscles. It was incredibly stimulating.  
  
“Brahms, stop!”  
  
Ann tore out of his grasp and turned around to face him, cheeks flustered and her heart racing against the insides of her ribcage. He watched her, slightly hunched over with tense shoulders a dark curls falling over his masked face. His dark eyes gleamed in the low light of the room. Ann hugged herself and took a step back when he took one in her direction. Brahms paused and cocked his head.  
  
“I won’t hurt you, but you have to do what I say.”  
  
“What if I don’t want to?”  
  
A dark look dulled the gleam in his eyes, but he said nothing. Ann knew enough though. She tore her gaze away from his face and to his bare feet. Her hands were trembling and she hugged herself tighter. She held her breath when Brahms approached her, his stance less predatory than before and more open. He wanted to coax her, soothe her. Reel her in. A part of her desperately wanted to let him.  
  
He stopped just in front of her, this epitome of a man. Pure testosterone and strength. What could she a mere woman do against _this_? Ann closed her eyes when his hands rested on her shoulders, stroking the junction between her neck and shoulder. Afraid to look at him so close in the eyes. She felt him close in even more as if he moved in to hug her, but lowered his head just a bit. One of his thumb pressed on her trapezius muscle, not quite painful but it was uncomfortable nonetheless.  
  
“I see and hear everything.”  
  
Then Brahms was gone. Ann watched his back retreat until he was out of the room. Leaving her alone, cold and his scent still clinging to her body.  
  
‘ _Does he know about Malcolm? About what I told him? Does he knows about what I’m planning to do?_ ’  
  
Ann felt scared, violated. Her emotions were chaotic; on one hand she repulsed him, on the other she wanted to embrace him. Fix him. Get passed all of this brutish strength or deranged concepts of relationships he had, wanting to make him better. Like he was a stray dog.  
  
But the rational part of her told her that he wasn’t. He was a man. Scarred and formed by his life and he would not change. She swallowed thickly and glanced outside the window. It was dark outside and snowing. Thick flocks of white twirling down from the inky blackness above. There was no wind.  
  
Ann felt her that time was running out before she would be completely engulfed by Brahms oppressing psychology, before he consumed her. Ann walked to the front door and noticed her boots and coat gone. It confirmed her suspicions that he knew, but did not know when. Ann still had the element of surprise.  
  
The whole house had gone quiet when she walked up the stairs. As if it held its imaginable breath, waiting. It was like the eye of the storm, silent and foreboding.  
  
Unnerved Ann dressed in her leggings and a long sleeved shirt instead of her PJ’s and crawled into bed. Her thoughts swirling uncontrolled in her head. Ann then decided that she would wait for a while. Fuck trust, fuck waiting for the right moment. She had to leave and it had to be tonight.

* * *

  
Ann swallowed thickly, her blood rushing in her ears as she crept out of her room. The hallway was impossibly dark and her eyes, thus adjusted, could barely see. She had to be quick and quiet. Crouching, Ann distributed her weight as evenly as she could across the stairs to prevent the wood from groaning. She balanced with one hand on the banister, the other clutching a pair of sneakers.  
  
Against the cold she had donned several sweaters and a pants over her leggings. A voice in her called her crazy, insane, to venture out in the cold at night. But she could use the darkness for her advantage for as long as it lasted because there were already traces of dawn in the sky. Turning the black into a grey.  
  
The only thing that made her doubt was the sheer silence in the house. She had not heard or seen Brahms after he had left and that made her uneasy.  
  
“You need to do this, Ann,” she whispered to herself. Sitting at the bottom of the stares and staring at the front door, her only salvation. She put on her sneakers and rose. Heart thundering against the insides of her ribcage like war drums. Increasing after each step towards the door.  
  
The knob was icy cold when her hand cupped it, a mere representation of the temperatures outside. She looked back one last time and took a deep breath, trying to stop herself from hesitating. Before she could go back Ann twisted the doorknob and opened it.  
  
Instantly she was thrown back, a force colliding against her akin to a wall. Ann landed on the hard wooden floor, having no time to scream or even gasp when her hair was grabbed tightly and she was pulled up by it before being thrown away again. Ann braced herself this time, managing to catch herself before her head collided against the wall.  
  
“You’re not playing nice, Annie!” A child-like voice chimed, simmering with rage despite its high tone.  
  
Ann turned and ducked before Brahms could get a hold on her again and bolted towards the open front door. She stumbled over his leg that he stuck out to try and trip her and wanted to jump down the steps into the snow. But an arm wrapped tightly around her waist, catching her and slamming her to the side into the metal rail. Ann turned, throwing a wild punch but the motion catching her off balance. She fell back, the snow cushioning her descend.  
  
“No, no, get away!” Ann cried out and scrambled backwards through the snow. Panic racing through her veins. Brahms walked down the remaining stairs, seemingly calm but his whole demeanour screamed rage.  
  
“What did I tell you about disobeying me, Annie?” He fussed in that sickly sweet voice again.  Approaching rapidly and grabbing her by the ankle. Ann screamed as she was pulled towards him, snow catching in her sweaters, freezing the skin that it touched. She tried to kick him away, but her blows were either avoided or restricted by his hold on her.  
  
Before she could react he threw away her legs to the side and grasped her by the collar, pulling her up from the snow and against him with a terrifying demonstration of his strength. Her nose brushed that of his mask’s and Ann looked into the dark depths of the eye slits. The only clue of his eyes a small shimmer. It made him monstrous.  
  
“How should I punish you?” His voice had deepened again, but still had that disturbing lilt of rage that caused her gut to churn in terror. She felt his breath escape the confines of his mask from the bottom, thus caressing against the skin of her neck that he bared by holding her collar.  
  
He inched closer, the tip of the porcelain nose grazing passed her own. Ann had a hard time hold his overpowering gaze with her own; it felt like he was hypnotizing her or crawling inside her head. Seeing right passed her daring façade and seeing all of her dark thoughts. He knew that a part of her secretly longed for him. Aroused not only by his physique but by his very being. His power. His ambiguity. He knew how she struggled not to give in.  
  
“I think I already know,” he whispered tenderly.  
  
Then a pair of hard, freezing lips brushed against her own. Ann inhaled sharply and her eyes threatened to flutter close due to the contact, but his hand twisting the fabric of her collar was a warning. Thus she kept her eyes open, gazing into his depths as they stood there in the snow. Her soul completely bare to him. Ann’s hand curled around the fabric of his vest at his waist, mental support.  
  
“Kiss me. Eyes open.”  
  
She had heard him, how could she not with him being so close that their chests and faces touched. But it took Ann a repeat of the command to close the remaining distance between them. It was out of self-perseverance, Ann would tell herself later on. Surviving.  
  
Liar.  
  
Ann felt slightly disturbed as her lips moved against the cold inanimate ones, trying to imagine that she kissed a lover to make it easy. Her eyelids wanted to flutter close, but she willed them to stay open. The act of kissing his mask feeling perverse in a way as she forced herself to keep looking at him. Heat rose to her cheeks.  
  
The porcelain tasted like nothing and Ann doubted that Brahms would feel any of it, but his breathing grew hard nonetheless and the hand not holding her collar cupped her neck. Thumb brushing the soft tissue below her jaw whilst his fingers added soft pressure on the back of her neck. Something then changed in his gaze and he pulled slightly back so that her lips released his. Ann licked them to moisten, a motion not going unnoticed by the man holding her.  
  
“Good girl. Now back to bed,” he said as if talking to a child.   
  
She was released instantly after his words and was ushered up the stairs by his hand on her back. The sheer pressure of it already branding not only her body but also her soul.


	9. Defeat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I re-read this a few times, but could have missed a few things. Maybe I will tweak the grammar here and there if I still find some fault. Bear with me.
> 
> I will get more into more physical details in future chapters, because this is more of a mental battle and point of view rather than physically. Those times will come and we will be getting more sexual.
> 
> Enjoy!

The next morning Ann was making breakfast, conflict raging inside of her.  
  
She was angry. Angry on that she had not bided her time and did not use her wits, with the result her capture. Angry at obeying Brahms, letting herself be overwhelmed. Ann’s finger tips touch her lips, she still felt the pressure of the cold ones of his mask against hers.  
  
The sound of bare feet on the kitchen tiles pulled her from her thoughts and she cut the sandwich she made for Brahms in half. She turned, meeting her captor but instead of keeping her eyes on him she had lowered her head and placed the plate on the table. Mumbling a ‘here you go Brahms’ before turning her back to him, trying to focus her attention on making her own sandwich.  
  
Ann flung two pieces of bread on her plate and thrusted her knife into butter, a dark part of her wishing that it was something else than the gooey off-white substance. She scooped up some of it and started to smear it across her bread. All the time her ears were strained, the hairs on her neck standing on end by the presence behind her that had yet to utter a word or move.  
  
She inhaled sharply when the patter of feet did not go to the table, where breakfast was waiting for Brahms, but towards her. Ann paused the smearing of her bread, knife clutched in her fist as her heartbeat surged in her ears.  
  
“Good morning, Annie,” Brahms cooed sweetly, his breath on her neck. At the same time a pair of arms encircled her waist, one hand resting on her pelvis the other just below her ribs where his thumb rubbed circles in soothing strokes. Even though her clothing separated skin from skin Ann felt defiled.  
  
He was testing her. He had to be.  
  
“Did you sleep well?” He whispered then, nuzzling her hair and inhaled deeply. Ignoring how she tensed because there was no way he could not notice it.  
  
Ann thought back on previous night, after she had been ushered back to bed. She had dozed off a few times but did not feel safe to truly rest. Unlike a week ago.  
  
“Yes,” she lied with a soft voice. The knife in her hand was held tighter.  
  
“I missed you. Your touch, your smell,” Brahms continued as if he had not heard her answer. His cheek pressing against the side of her head after he had stroked her blond hair off to the side, revealing the skin of her neck to him. Porcelain nose now merely grazing the shell of her ear and the rough hairs of his beard brushed the skin he had exposed. “Your lips.”  
  
Ann closed her eyes, focused on her breathing to keep it even and her willing her body not to respond. She had to remind herself that he was stronger than her, faster than her. She was on a disadvantage physically and had a feeling that they matched on intelligence. Brahms was not stupid, but neither was she.  
  
‘ _But you are considering to try and stab him, aren’t you?_ ’ A voice whispered in her thoughts.  
  
Her eyes flung open when he released her waist and his hands touched each of her shoulders. Slowly they slid down to her arms, adding pressure along the way. Brahms took a small step forward when they reached her own hands, grasping them gently as his chest pressed against her back.  
  
“So tense,” he chuckled. “Let me help you.”  
  
With his chin on her shoulder his much larger hands took control of her own as if she were a puppet and Ann _let_ him. She let him play with her, because she could not do a thing about it. She allowed him to move her hands as if it were his own and finished her jelly sandwich. He even cut it for her, so close to her nails that she felt the teeth of the knife scrape over them. Not cutting, but merely scratching the surface.  
  
A warning.  
  
‘ _I thought you weren’t the type to roll over?_ ’  
  
“Open up!” Brahms chimed again with that godawful childish voice. It really started to grate on her already frayed nerves.  
  
_‘You would become his puppet for who knows how long. Is that the life you want to live?’_  
  
A piece of bread pushed against her lips, leaving a print of strawberry jelly. That did it. Ann would not be fed by him, or taken care of. Ann was an independent woman fighting for her own survival and this was a way of him dominating her. Making her rely on him, to control her and Ann would not stand for it.  
  
This time her hands were on equal height as his and not in dishwater. It would take less time than before, perhaps surprise him.  
  
‘ _DO IT._ ’  
  
Ann turned around in his grasp, knife held tight in her hand and she used her momentum to stab at him, aiming for the abdomen. She felt the blade nick his sides but not embed itself.  
   
Brahms inhaled sharply in surprise but then he was relentless. Slamming her wrist hard against the counter that forced her to release the knife. It clattered on the marble floor when they struggled, trying to get a hold of each other’s appendages because that meant dominance. The sandwich and plate followed the knife with a loud crashing due to their fight.  
  
Ann was not strong enough, both of her wrists caught and she was forced to bent back on the counter, arms twisted with the back of her hands resting against the cool surface and held down by Brahms stronger ones and his weight. She arched her back trying to lift them and then flexed her hips up to kick him. Anywhere, as long as she hit him.  
   
Brahms cocked his head back and laughed, body too close for her to fully lash out. So she gurgled and spat. Instantly one of his hands released hers and the palm connecting against her cheek was hard and unforgiving. Punishing. He hit her again, stronger this time and blood rushed her mouth as her teeth buried themselves in her lower lip by the sheer force behind his blow. Her head connected hard against the granite counter, dazing her senses.  
  
The man instantly pulled up both of her hands, holding them together in a vice grip with just one hand as he reached out to something with the other. Ann inhaled sharply when the unmistaken tip of a knife glided across her neck.  
  
“You tried to stab me,” Brahms breathed heavily, voice low and grumbling with barely contained rage. His eyes betrayed his madness, wide and gleaming. It would take just a small push before he would snap and reveal his true nature. Ann casted her eyes up and swallowed thickly when the knife brushed against the soft skin of her throat. He would only need to apply pressure. Her muscles trembled in fear.  
  
‘ _Perhaps it is better this way._ ’  
  
“Do it.”  
  
Ann’s voice was strange to her own ears when she uttered those two words.  
  
“Do it, or I swear that one day I will do it to you and I will succeed.”    
  
Her final amount of courage was poured in the sentence that rolled over her lips and Ann looked up at this gravely disturbing fake face of his above her. The only shred of humanity left in this _monster_ that held her down was the quelling rage in his eyes. Ann wished so hard at that moment that he would just kill her, so she would no longer live in fear of what the future might bring in this never-ending nightmare.  
  
She could not fight him physically, but she had a will. And Ann would rather die than to have him break her will. Her spirit. She willed him to pressed down the knife, sever her airway and jugular veins.  
  
But Ann had forgotten that he had already cracked her a little while ago.  
  
Brahms laughed, the anger not fully out of his system yet but supressed in this moment of insanity that instilled a flicker of fear and doubt within Ann. His dark eyes twinkled in remaining mirth when the laughter ebbed away a bit till a rumbling in his chest. The tips of the knife slid from her neck to the top of her breastbone.  
  
“I _could_ kill you now, saving myself a lot of trouble dealing with you. But you know what, Annie?” The tip of the knife travelled lower still, pulling the neckline of her shirt along with it and skimmed the middle of her bra before the fabric sprung back into place with holes here and there from the blade’s sharpness.  
  
Brahms leaned in just a bit, his eyes never leaving hers. The blade lowering still and now on top of her shirt across the middle of her abominable muscles.  
  
“I like you. I like your spirit,” he said. The blade now skimmed her navel and Ann inhaled sharply because of the sting, she cocked back her head tearing her eyes to the ceiling before closing them. “I _know_ I could teach you to like me too.” Just when the tip reached the edge of her pants it was suddenly gone.  
  
Instantly Ann was enveloped by Brahms’ warm body, her hands trapped between his torso and hers. One of his own appendage skidding underneath the hem of her shirt, the callouses of his fingertips gliding up her stomach causing her own skin to erupt into goose bumps. His other hand covering her eyes, stealing her ability to see.  
  
“You just need to let me in,” his whispered in her ear. “Allow me to teach you how to _feel_.”  
  
Her fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt, on the left she felt something wet and his breathing only had to flutter just a bit for her to know that this was the wound she caused.  
  
His hand beneath her shirt reached up, scooting below her bra and grasp one of his breasts. Ann gasped and arched her back just a bit in reaction to this. Something primal made her to clench her thighs, only to discover she was clenching around a waist. Ann’s cheeks warmed instantly. Brahms chuckled in her ear, his beard scratching the junction of her neck. He moved a bit above her and something clattered on the counter.  
  
“I know how I make you feel,” he whispered in her ear again, this time the sound wasn’t muffled. The change and the feeling of him massaging one of her breasts caused her breathing to falter and her fingers to grasp his shirt even tighter.  
  
“Conflicted.” He continued along her jawline.  
  
“Angry.” The hints of his _real_ flesh and warm lips brushing against the skin as he moved his focus to her chin.  
  
“Afraid.” He ventured up until his breathing was upon her own lips. Ann could only imagine how he looked like, and the ability of vision stripped from her by his hand covering his eyes only fed her imagination and the warmth blooming in stomach that made her muscles quiver and her will to weaken.  
  
“ _Aroused_ ,” Brahms drawled out the word. Making sure that his lips rolled across her own as he uttered it just like he rolled his hips against her pelvis. On instinct Ann puckered her lips in a kiss but he would not have it.  
  
At that moment Ann finally accepted that her struggle against him was futile. Her emotions and thoughts were such a rollercoaster that the ability to think straight and the will and energy to fight back had left her completely. She accepted her fate right there and then, with this man almost on top of her on the cold kitchen counter of which the edge ached in her lower back.   
  
Brahms had controlled her from the beginning, even before the doll had shattered. Ann hadn’t realized it until this moment.  
  
Then he kissed her. Chapped lips that she welcomed moving unforgivingly rough against her own. Hot, overwhelming, dominant and enticing. His musk scent filled her nose as she inhaled through her nose as she let it happen; him taking her. Engulfed by his being, his aura. The twitch in his lips that she felt, betrayed his smile, but Ann did not act on it. She could not. Her initial thoughts of dying, killing him or herself in the future now out the window. It would not matter anyway.  
  
Ann had given up the fight.  
  
She was his, and only his.


	10. Promises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, sorry for the cliffhanger and the long wait. Have been working on myself via counselling and dealing with issues so that took a lot of my time and exhausted me to a point that I couldn't write anymore. Plus I want to use a full chapter on something else *wink wink*
> 
> Next chapter is going to be explicit, just a little heads up.
> 
> Enjoy.

Cold.  
  
The skin of her forehead was freezing against the cool glass of her mirror, but at the same time it was bliss. Her hands gripping the sink for balance Ann had closed her eyes and let herself savour this little moment of peace.  
  
Of course she guilt-tripped over the situation just this morning, but she couldn’t do anything about it now. Right? She was trapped here, stuck and now she was forced to make the better of it. Sighing she pushed herself off the sink and got dressed in her usual PJ’s.  
  
‘ _Got to check the front door._ ’  
  
Brahms was not present around her this time as the soles of her bare feet padded against the wooden floor and were eventually muffled by the carpet draped across the staircase. The entire house doused in darkness, but her habit of checking the front door was stronger than her fear from the darkness. Especially now she knew what dwelled within and succumbed to it.  
  
Ann’s eyes flitted to the wall, a scraping on the wood the only inclination of their fight only days ago. Her skin crawled at the memory and she quickly began her task onto locking down the house before the headlights of an approaching car through the window distracted her. It stopped right in front of the steps.  
  
‘ _Who on earth could it be on this hour?_ ’  
  
Quickly she undo her work and opened the door, the cold breeze making her shiver. Her heart thundered when the sight of a familiar man met her eyes.  
  
“Malcolm,” she voiced the man’s name when he looked up. His expression grave as he went up the stairs, she automatically opened the door a bit more even though he stopped in front of her. Something was wrong.  
  
“What are you doing here this late? Did something happen?”  
  
“It’s the Heelshire’s,” he began albeit stammering, intensely staring at his feet. He clearly was distressed, so Ann did what a normal person would do; she took him inside against all better judgement. She shut the door behind him and led the man to the kitchen where he sat down on one of the dining chairs and was handed a glass of water. Ann pulled up a chair next to him against her better judgement.  
  
_‘Brahms.’_  
  
“Something happened to them.” It was not a question, more a deduction by the way he acted.  
  
Malcolm nodded, his styled hair bobbing up and down with notion of his head. A strand fell across his face, but he did nothing about it. His lips twitched as he fumbled with the glass of water in front of him, twirling it round and round in his grasp but did not drink from it but was yet the focus of his gaze.  
  
“They’re-” he stopped, his voice breaking and let his gaze fall to his lap.  
  
Something dropped into Ann’s gut at the same time that weight like a ton and she felt all the blood pull out of her face. They were dead. Ann grabbed Malcolm’s shoulder, reassuringly but firm at the same time. It also helped grounding herself.  
  
_‘He can’t stay here. Brahms would know, perhaps he already does.’_  
  
“Do you know-?” She could not finish the sentence.  
  
“Their bodies were found, washed up shore. Possible suicide,” he murmured in the smallest voice she had ever heard him talking. Then Malcolm looked up and in the faint kitchen light she could see his eyes glistening with unspoiled tears.  
  
Voicing it was the hardest part. It made it real.  
  
He had worked with them for years. Good, kind and sweet Malcolm. Ann swallowed down the lump and felt the familiar sting in her own eyes. Her thumb stroked the fabric of his coat on his shoulder, squeezing it tighter trying to comfort them both. It hurt her to see him so heartbroken.  
  
“Oh Malcolm,” she whispered and pulled him in a hug, at the same swallowing down the emotional lump that had formed in her throat. That it was uncomfortable because they were seated was not her top priority. “I’m so sorry.” Her cheek pressed against his even though his stubble tickled and scratched her skin.  
  
_‘You’re his.’_  
  
It was nice to have human contact with someone that wasn’t mentally abusive. Ann felt him lean into her, encompassing her with his warmth and she did nothing to stop it, instead she welcomed it. She shifted on her chair so that she could bury her face into his jacket, his deodorant mixed with his natural body odour pleasantly tickling her nose. Then she felt his lips, attentively touching and kissing the bare skin of her neck. At the same time his hands ran up and down her back. Ann sighed.  
  
‘ _You’re putting Malcolm in danger._ ’  
  
The thought put an end to the spell and Ann abruptly pulled back and stood. Malcolm followed.  
  
“Ann, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-” he instantly apologized and reached out to touch her again. Ann stepped back and shook her head, tears escaping her eyes.  
  
“If I could, I would. But I can’t,” Ann tried to explain and hugged herself. “I’m already taken and it’s _real_.” Malcolm’s eyes took her in and something changed in his features. It went from a panicked apology, to worry, to alertness. He figured something out.  
  
“Ann-”  
  
“I think you need to leave,” Ann said, cutting him off a second time.  
  
They regarded each other silently for the next minute. Ann looked at the walls that were exceptionally quiet this entire time. Brahms was watching for certain. Malcolm followed her gaze for a moment, then he nodded.  
  
“Okay. Take it easy, alright? I will drop off the groceries on the front porch tomorrow afternoon.”  
  
Ann replied with a nod and a small thank you. And then he was gone, door closing with a bang behind him.  
  
She released the breath she had held and closed her eyes.  
  
_‘The Heelshire’s are dead..’_  
  
It came as a surprise, but it also explained why they hadn’t returned yet. Ann felt pity for them as she partially understood but also felt betrayed in a sense. They had just hired a nanny to take care of Brahms so they could let everything go? Hand over their ‘problem’ to someone else.  
  
Too tired to think about it any longer Ann ventured towards the front door and locked it, before dragging herself up the stairs towards her bedroom. The promises of rest was very alluring and she honestly thought she was going to get it, but when she entered her room all of those promises were snuffed out and were instantly replaced with fear and dread.  
  
“ _I see and hear everything,_ ” her memories whispered in her head with _his_ deep voice.  
  
Brahms stood up from her bed the moment she walked in and stalked over to her. His body tense and rage oozing off of him.  
  
This was going to be bad.  
  
  



	11. Me & The Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol, I think we all know what is going to happen in this chapter. <3
> 
> Soap&Skin - Me & The Devil was sort of my muse during this chapter. Along with one of their other songs; Thanatos.
> 
> I did not proof read this. So will probably tweak some things (grammar) here and there later on, but nothing too noticable. Overall I am happy with the result since this is one of my first times I've written this.
> 
> Enjoy!

Brahms did not hit her, but his iron grip on her wrist was bruising and hurt when he pulled her along the tight space between walls. That confirmed her suspicions that he had been moving around in here, this maze. Always watching, always there.  
  
Ann had no choice but to follow him, steadying herself with her free hand on the walls in order not to fall. The splinters dug in her skin.  
  
After rounding a narrow corner and climbing up a staircase he looked at her from over his shoulder, the glimmer of his eyes nearly impossible to see because it was so dark. Ann let her eyes fall down to her bare feet, fear making her throat too dry to swallow.  
  
He opened the door at the top of the staircase, revealing an open space and pulled her inside and let go of her hand. Ann took a few forward steps to get her footing, but when she did her eyes automatically scanned the new environment. The room was equivalent in size like her bedroom, but stacked with furniture. A fridge, some workbenches, tools, a small radio and a single bed in the far corner. Overall it was very dimly lit, hiding most details.  
  
He lived here.  
  
The door closing behind her put a stop on her observation. Ann closed her eyes and clenched her fists, willing to be in her bed or better yet; home. But Ann wasn’t. Instead she was trapped in _his_ domain and had no clue what was about to happen when the creaking of the wood betrayed Brahms’ approach.  
  
His large hand landed on the middle of her back between the shoulder blades, causing her to pull her shoulders up on an instinctual level to protect her neck against this threat behind her. His fingers were splayed, pressing softly at first but then more urgent. Ann walked, forward and thus was forced to open her eyes to see where he wanted to direct her.  
  
“No.”  
  
The single word was calm, but held something terrifying none the less. Instantly Ann closed her eyes again, in response his hand rose from the spot on her back across the collar of her shirt until the tips of his digits rested on the skin of the base of her neck. A warning.  
  
Then suddenly his hand was gone along with all contact. He moved away from her, there was the sound of things moving and then the deafening silence was filled with music. Classical, but not uplifting. Something unrecognizable with a lot of strings, most of them cello’s and slow-paced. Ann stood there, blind and very uncomfortable.  
  
Brahms’ scent invaded her when he was near her again, it intoxicated her. She sensed him standing in front of her, heard his breathing and felt it move the hair on her head. Ann inhaled sharply when she sensed him lean in, his hands heavy as they settled on her shoulders, then slowly slid down across the skin of her arms. His warmth along with the sensation causing her skin to shiver and hairs to rise, her body leaned more towards him.  
  
“What- ?” Ann tried to speak, but the ability failed her. She dared to look at him and the sight was a demon disguised as a man. Sweat pearling on his hair covered chest that heaved, constrained.  
  
He tilted his head just a bit at her question, examining. His gaze flicked down and back up for just a split second, much in the manner of a primal beast that was ready to devour its prey and tried to spot the weakest part of its body. In his eyes she could see he was grinning.  
  
Ann knew she had to pay because of Malcolm, but had no idea what or when. The wait for something to happen was horror.  
  
As if he heard her nervous thoughts she was suddenly turned around and pulled flush against the wall of muscle, the action causing her lids to fall again. His arms wound around her waist, fingers instantly slipping underneath the hem of her shirt the tips pressing in her flesh. The other one skidded up, causing her shirt to ride up and the material to scrape in a sinful manner against her breasts, before finally settling on her shoulder with his elbow pressing against one of the twin mounts.  
  
They began to dance.  
  
It was slow, antagonizing. A moving of hips and roaming hands, mingling of breaths as Ann felt her arousal peak all fear for this man in this moment forgotten. The firmness of the Brahms’ chest against her, the scratching of his beard against her neck followed by his hot breath. They were completely out of synch with the music but deliciously so. He did not whisper in her ear, but his intentions were clear; she was only his.  
  
Before Ann even knew it she was on fire. Her skin achingly sensitive and a need to satisfy herself building up. She was again abruptly turned and the lock of lips made her try to melt together with Brahms. She had not even noticed when or how he had removed his mask.  
  
Brahms’ taste was exquisite, something solely his. The kiss pulled her in spurring her on even more and Ann breathed heavy through her nose. She felt one of his hands roaming beneath her shirt across her bare back, tapping and pressing like an enticing massage. The other went down over the rounding of her butt, pulling with intent on the fabric of her shorts. Ann’s lips trembled when she felt the tips of his fingers skim around the edge of the fabric on her thighs, hinting. Her fingers curled into his shirt.  
  
Then she was pushed. She stumbled, hands reaching out behind her to break her fall but she did not collide with the hard wooden floor but something soft. The terror swiftly overtaking her arousal. Ann noticed the bed and her missing blanket just a second before she was pressed down on it, her focus forced on Brahms who was the culprit.  
  
He was above her writhing against her, face doused in darkness beside the glimmer of his gaze and the single light in the room illuminating the crown of his curly head. Brahms was angelic and demonic, both rewarding and punishing. Dominating her senses with the grind of his hips, forcing her to respond with a moan. His arousal delved against her pelvis, slipping just between her cheeks. The roughness of both fabrics as he dry-humped her almost sizzling her nerves, reigniting the fire in her loins and successfully driving away the fear. It made her ache for more from this beast above her and thus she pressed back and up to try and increase the friction.  
  
A deep chuckle was her reward, but then much do her dismay he stopped his ministrations and let his weight press her even more against the matrass below.  
  
“You want this.”  
  
It was not a question but a breathy moan was Brahms’ answer when his hands began to roam again.  
  
His appendages slipped once again underneath her shirt and as he lifted it the fingers pressed down on her flesh, causing her to breath in deeply by the time his hands hovered over her breasts, but instead of cupping them he tore the garment over her head and away. Only _then_ he cupped them. He kneaded them, not harshly, but hard enough to make her nipples stand erect. They were given some mere attention from his thumbs, making her want more. Ann arched back her head and closed her eyes, fingers intertwining with the blankets below her.  
  
She felt his hands retract from her breasts, instantly cold without his warmth. But there was a quick rustle of fabric and he was back again in full force. This time completely and utterly engulfing her. His face pressed against her neck, placing languid kisses along the sensitive skin and below her jaw. Brahms’ bare chest was delightfully coarse against her nipples and with his hips grinding again Ann was in sensory overload.  
  
His arms wrapped around her bare torso as he thrusted against her, pulling her to meet each roll of his hips that was a promise what was to come and so much more. Ann’s hands flailed, trying to hold onto something and thus settled on the mop of his hair and his back. Nails scratching skin that elected a moan of his own against her hot skin. His teeth nipped back at the junction of her neck in response.  
  
Ann practically felt her moisture of her sex dripping down to the crevice of her butt, causing her underwear to stick.  
  
“Brahms, please,” Ann moaned when his lips ghosted up across her jaw towards her own mouth. She let out a sigh of contentment when he kissed her languidly, enticingly and sucked her bottom lip for just a second that instantly sent out a tremor to her sex. She writhed against him.  
  
The exact turning point of her fearing this man and then wanting him to fuck her brains out was unknown to Ann. But it was heaven and hell at the same time.  
  
Slowly this god of a man retreated from her, straightening himself and glanced down at her. Ann was catching her breath, already feeling a thin sheen of sweat all over her body due to his ministrations. Now that he had retreated she longed for him even more. Ann sat up a bit and reached out, her fingers threading through the hair on his chest and stomach, across plains of muscle. Brahms’ was certainly not lean so that all of his abs were visible, but she could feel them below his skin. Powerful, tight.  
  
“Please what?” The smugness dripped from his voice just like her arousal did from her loins.  
  
He was playing with her, doing nothing as she now sat on her knees, hands exploring now new territory and lips following short after. Tasting the sweat from his skin. Brahms shuddered when her fingers curled just above the curve of lower back above the rim of his pants. There was a flicker of pride in her chest.  
  
“Please,” Ann repeated. “I want you.” The three words that she never thought she would, Ann indeed whispered against his skin of his collarbone. It made something snap in Brahms’ eyes.  
  
Roughly and abrupt she was again turned around, face pressed against the matrass and Brahms’ hard body against hers. His grip was hurting. “You don’t _want_ me,” he seethed in her ear. The rage that had seemed to disappear in their dance coming back in full force.  
  
“You want the boy, Malcolm. I s _aw_ it,” his anger made his voice deepen and tremble, it ignited once more the terror in her gut. Ann let out a strangled yelp when Brahms took a hold of her shorts and ripped them down along with her underwear. Exposing her trembling flesh to the world. With one hand pressing between her shoulder blades to keep her down, the other skimmed across the newly exposed skin. Mapping out the curve of her butt and her inner thighs with the tap of his rough fingerpads.  
  
“You want to be in his life, you want him to love you. But you will not, you _never_ will.”  
  
His digits slipped between the folds of her vagina, but did not enter. She heard him chuckle above her when her body responded into wanting to roll against his hand. Ann sensed him lean over to her again, all the while his fingers prodded and kneaded at her entrance. Enticing her in the most cruel way possible as the mixture of dread and sexual tension made her gut clench divinely in anticipation.  
  
“You _need_ me.” His words were compelling yet enthralling at the same time. Ann let her mouth fall open as two of his fingers delightfully entered her. Slow and agonizing, drawing her in. She was his puppet, his play thing, and she loved it. Her hands clenched into fists, having the need to grab onto something.  
  
“You’ve needed me your entire life. Someone to control you, chain you down,” Brahms continued just like he continued pulling his fingers out and inside her sex. It was incredibly arousing and soon Ann was trying to push back against his hand, filled with the need for more. More of Brahms, more of his fingers, more pleasure.  
  
“Yes,” Ann moaned, voice high pitched as the knot in her gut curled even tighter. “I need you.” Her toes curled just when his fingers did inside of her, rubbing the spot behind her navel that melted her mind into a puddle just like the one she was probably creating on the bed.  
  
“Brahms!” His name was a mantra on her tongue as his fingers picked up speed, but when she came they instantly retreated the pulsing cavity, evading the clamping muscles. Ann panted, legs and arms struggling to hold her arm and trembling to due to intensity of her orgasm.  
  
The hand between her shoulders was gone and the rustle of fabric was not registered by her brain as she tried to come down from her high. The dipping of the bed behind her was what made her alert of her environment.  
  
Brahms leaned a bit over her, forcing her body to lower more to the matrass with the tips of her nipples just grazing the sheets. Her legs were spread wider, showing him more of her pulsing vagina that leaked its fluids.  
  
“So beautiful,” he whispered reverently. So sincere that it was out of character of him. Two digits were presented to her, shimmering wet. Ann instantly knew where they had been.  
  
“Suck.”  
  
Ann did, without question and let her lips close around them. Tongue swirling as she tasted herself on his flesh. At the same time she felt his other hand pressing at the junctions on either side of her vagina, not touching the hot flesh but making her want him again. Soon his hand was replaced by something else, something just as hot but thicker and harder. It was not hard to imagine what it was.  
  
With that Ann released his fingers, letting her head fall down as she enjoyed him lathering up his manhood with her juices. Her arousal. Suddenly he reached up above her, grabbing something and placed it below her.  
  
“Lay down.”  
  
With her vocabulary reduced to breaths, incoherent mumbling and moans Ann did not protest and did what he ask her too. It was a pillow pressing against her lower abdomen, forcing her hips up towards him but adding delicious pressure where it needed. It allowed her to relax her trembling legs.  
  
His hands, rough but hard labour, slid over the swell of her butt over her back to her shoulders and back down. Adding more and more pressure each time. After several strokes he settled his chest on her back, his lips just below her ears.  
  
“You’re so ready for me, so wet,” he whispered in her ear when his penis in demonstration slid between her ass cheeks, across her folds but not quite entering. It was smooth and slick, evidence of her need for him.  
  
He pulled back a bit, the tip of his manhood pressed against her entrance. Ann bit her lip in a gasp. Her vulva clenching as it pulsed for him.  
  
“Brahms,” she began to utter his name. Ready to beg for him, but before she could even start he already slid inside her. Filling her in the most delicious way possible. The hint of pain was worth it, heightening only her senses as his balls touched her skin.  
  
He moaned in her ears in approval and for a few seconds they both remained motionless. Then he began to move. Hips drawing back and snapping back against hers in languid thrusts. His chest moving roughly against her back, his breath against her cheek where he would occasionally give a sloppy kiss. One of his hands held onto her shoulder as leverage, the other one of her own to ground them.  
  
Ann felt everything. How her folds moved back out and in with each of his thrust, the pillow adding more pressure and more depth. Each time he plunged into her his balls touched the base of her clitoris. It was hot, and nothing like she ever imagined it to be. Soon she was again on the brink of orgasm and let the devil above her know with a moan and a squeeze of her hand. Brahms picked up the pace, reaching the depths again and again and again until Ann’s eyes rolled back into their sockets. She came down on him, hard and relentless but he kept moving. Kept pounding into her.  
  
Then they switched before the trembling of her orgasm seized. He turned her swiftly around onto her back, shifting the pillow so that it was underneath her ass, keeping it lifted for him. Brahms settled down again, her nipples brushing against the coarse hair of his chest.  
  
His lips locking onto hers in breathy kisses and moans, his thrusts now more powerful. This time his pelvic bone touched her clit when he fully sheathed inside of her, getting deeper and deeper. Then he tilted his hips a bit up that made Ann groan.  
  
It made her orgasm again. Her body clamping around this hard body inside of her that sent her over the edge over and over. Ann held onto his back, nails scratching his flesh and one hand grabbed his firm buttocks. Trying to pull him deeper inside of her even though it was not possible.  
  
Brahms shuddered and righted himself, tearing himself from her groping hands and grabbed her hips in bruising hold. He let out a growl that was animalistic of nature and set up a pace that was not of this world. Ann had a hard time meeting it, but she enjoyed it nonetheless. She felt her vulva clench again for the fourth time, forcing her to arch her back and let out a loud moan. What truly sent her over the edge was the cursing of the devil above her, the rapid now incoherent thrusts of his penis and the warmth he spilled inside of her without stopping all together.  
  
Her body clamped down on him, milking him longer than every other man had and when he finally stopped Brahms retreated out of her, along with him the spillage of his semen. Warm against her pulsing vagina.  
  
Ann breathed, trying to catch it and close her eyes and felt his weight leave the bed and his footsteps going to the other side of the room. Probably getting a towel.  
  
She thought nothing, only basked there on the bed in her afterglow. Longing.  

**Author's Note:**

> Liked it?  
> Please review and give feedback!


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